


Brown Sugar

by tyronexx



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: A.U.gust, AU, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gallavich, M/M, References to Drugs, Rehabilitation, sober companion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:24:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyronexx/pseuds/tyronexx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher, a recovering drug addict is fresh out of rehab and his brother hires a sober companion, Mickey Milkovich, to help him through the first weeks of his sobriety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Concrete Jungle

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first sort of planned multichap fic, so I hope you enjoy this and feel free to leave Kudos or a comment if you did!

 

Phillip Gallagher, a respected New York City lawyer took a final drag from his cigarette and opened the heavy door to the office building where his next meeting was scheduled. He hadn't smoked in over four years, but recent events had pushed his stress levels to the max and made him fall back on his nicotine addiction, proving again, that there was nothing better to calm him down, than inhaling the fumes from a cigarette.

The hall of the NYC Sober Companion headquarters was empty, nothing there would have given away the purpose of the company. Struggles with sobriety and drug abuse wasn't something people liked to parade around and that mirrored in the buildings interior design. Everything was impersonal, exchangable and anonymous.

Phillip was glad. If anybody saw him here and assumed to know the purpose of his visit, he would soon loose his big bureau in the top level of the lawfirm he had been lucky enough to be employed in and he would have to find a less nice and less expensive home for his beautiful wife and two adorable children.

The lady at the counter greeted him with a professional smile and licked her perfectly painted lips before she started to speak.

"Welcome, Sir. I'm assuming you have made an appointment with our coordinator?"

Lip nodded shortly and ran a hand through his ash blond hair.

"I was told to state my case number? It's 567388."

The woman typed the number into the computer in front of her and reappeared soon after from behind the big screen.

"Alright then, Mr. Carter is waiting for you in his bureau. Second door to the left. Would you like me to escort you there?"

The smile seemed stuck on her flawless face and Lip shook his head. He had never really liked women like this, because he just couldn't figure out what was behind that mask of politeness and perfection.

He reached the door after a few steps and straightened his gray, tailored suit before knocking. There was a short silence until it swung open and a short man with thin hair and a remarkable paunch offered him his hand.

"Good afternoon, Sir. My name is Larry Carter. Please, come in."

Lip shook his hand briefly and stepped through the door. He was offered to sit in one of the big leather chairs in front of a glass desk and Mr. Carter poured him a glass of water.

"Mister Gallagher. Nice to finally meet you. We've talked a few times on the phone but it's nice to finally connect the voice with a face."

He smiled and revealed yellow, crooked teeth. Lip nodded, talking something about how the pleasure was all his and that he was thankful this all had happened as fast as it did.

 

"So what are we dealing with today, Mr. Gallagher? Who are you looking for?"

Lip took a moment to collect his thoughts, then spoke truthfully.

"I'm looking for a sober companion for my younger brother. He's had a few problems in the past year and he's going to get out of rehab in a few days and I need somebody to help him stay on track."

Mr. Carter nodded understandingly, then turned his computer screen towards his guest, showing him a register with all the men and woman that were available for hire.

Lip felt lost with amount of people he was presented with.

"I'll need someone who is tough. Someone who doesn't scare easy. Me and my brother grew up in the Southside of Chicago. If I hire someone who is soft, he'll never respect them."

During his words, a smile had spread on Mr. Carters face.

"Say no more! I know just the guy you're looking for." He clicked on the face of a darkhaired man and maximized his file.

"This is Mickey Milkovich. He's one of our top guys. A little rough around the edges and definitely not for everyone, but he'll get the job done. He's got a 98% success rate."

Lip quickly read through his file and liked what he saw. Mickey Milkovich was 24 years old, living in New York for three years and he had the face of someone who had experience and perseverance.

"Unless you've got someone who's got the 100% success rate, he seems perfect." Phillip said, taking his eyes away from the screen.

"He'll be available the day my brother gets released?"

Mr Carter nodded assuringly and opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out some forms.

"Alright, we'll have to go through these, so Mr. Milkovich knows a bit about his protégé. And after that, we're good to go."

The Coordinator went through a couple of basic questions, like age, birthday, birthplace and Lip answered them quickly and truthfully. He loved his brother and he would have done anything for him, but at this point, he was ready to get the hell out of this office.

"What drugs is your brother addicted to?" Lip got his phone out of his pocket and opened the list the recovery center had mailed him earlier that day.

"Uh, everything, basically. But the big one is heroin. That's what the doctor told me."

Mr Carter nodded, unimpressed by the lawyers statement. Then again, this was his job and he had probably seen way worse.

"Any idea what got him hooked on all that stuff?"

Lip took a deep breath. This wasn't something he liked to remember, let alone talk about. The thought itself made his stomach tighten and his blood boil.

"His, um, boyfriend, I guess. They started dating some time in the spring last year and he kept his relationship and everything very private, but a couple of months later I found out the dude is about 35 years older than him. They started taking them together and I guess he got the drugs to make sure my brother stayed with him."

Mr Carter nodded understandingly and filled In the given information. They settled the payment method and Lip left the bureau moments after, already fiddling for his next cigarette while still in the hallway.

 

* * *

 

Rehab, Taxi, Airport, Bus, Plane, Bus.

After all these stops, Ian Gallagher had finally made it to New York City. He was tired, exhausted actually, nervous and excited to see his annoying big brother again.

There was also a whole other spectrum of emotions brooding in the back of his head, but he forced himself not to go there and focuss on the moment for now.

Thankfully it only took a couple of minutes to get his bag from the luggage claim and walk through the glass doors that lead to the pick up zone of JFK Airport. Lip was easy to spot, standing a little offside from everyone else waiting for their loved ones, nervously fiddling with the buttons of his jacket.

Lips facial expressions relaxed when he saw a thatch of firery red hair heading towards him, a big grin on his freckled face.

 

"There he is. What's up little brother?" Halfway through their hug, Ian started laughing and took a step back.

"You know that I'm not suppossed to be around addicting substances right now, right?"

He sniffed Lip again and took another step back. "You started smoking again?" The lawyer's look became slightly panicked and he quickly fiddled the pack of smokes out of his pocket and into the nearest trashcan.

"Shit, Ian. I'm sorry. I don't know how I could've forgotten that. You okay?"

He looked legitimately worried that he had somehow already managed to fuck up his brothers sobriety, but Ian just grinned and laid an arm around him.

"It's all good. Trust me, cigarettes are not the reason I was in that hellhole for 6 months." Lip shot him another apologizing look and grabbed his bag.

"Don't tell Mandy, alright? She'll kill me if she finds out I started again."

Ian chuckled and raised two fingers in the air.

"I swear."

 

  
He followed his brother to the parking garage next to the airport and whistled approvingly when Lip clicked the keys to open his giant BMW.

"Jesus, Lip. How much did that cost you? You live in New York. Why the hell do you even own a car?"

Lip shrugged and got behind the wheel, Ian climbing onto the passenger seat. The inside still smelled like plastic and toxins so the car had to be a recent purchase. Lip didn't exactly like to talk about his income and anything that had to do with money, but Ian had a pretty good idea what his brothers monthly income was and he knew that after working his ass off for years and years money finally wasn't a problem anymore.

Ian kept Lip talking the entire drive home, asking about Mandy, his kids, his job, anything he could think of really, that would keep his brother from talking about Ian and his problems. He knew the conversation was unavoidable, but he wasn't there yet. He figured he would drag that out as long as he possibly could.

It took about 20 minutes until they reached their destination, a vintage looking building in Queens, about seven stories high and very dirty.

"Looks good!" Ian said and it did.

There were small steps leading up to the main entrance, used, but still beautiful and there were bushes and flowers growing in a patch in front of the basement windows. The wood of the front door was engraved with flowery carvings, there was even a iron loop to knock on the door.

They entered the building and climbed up four flights of stairs until they reached the second floor. By the time they arrived at the apartment, Ian was out of breath and sweat pearls had formed on his forehead and above his upper lip. Lip shot him a mocking look and he raised his hands in defense.

"I know, I know. I gotta start getting in shape again. I can't do anything anymore without dripping like a faucet."

Lip chuckled and handed him a small silver key.

"Here you go, brother. Welcome to the big apple!" He padded his back slightly as Ian unlocked the dark brown, wooden door.

 

 

It opened right into what seemed to be a living room. The first thing that caught Ians eye were the big windows that covered the whole wall in front of him. The view was anything but great, only showing the front of another building across the street dirty and run-down but it let in a lot of light, which Ian liked.

The room was furnished with a dark leather couch in the center, and book shelves covering all other walls. Ians eyes looked around for a TV but couldn't find one.

Lip, who had waited for him to take in the new place, stepped into the room and, as if he had read his thoughts, ripped a large piece of what looked like plastic cover off the wall above a fireplace that Ian hadn't even noticed until now. That revealed a big flastcreen TV, the screen still covered in the protection foil.

"This is not supposed to be like a big reveal, I guess the painters just forgot to take it off when they changed the wallpaper in here."

Ian felt torn between happiness and guilty conscience as it dawned on him how much effort Lip had put in giving him a new home. He could feel the guilt brooding in his stomach trying to convince him that he wasn't worth all this.

"Listen, I think all this is awesome, but it seems crazy expensive. I could just go back and live in Chicago. We have a home there?"

Lip stood silent for a moment, selecting his words carefully. Although seeming fine, Ian was still fragile and easy to disturb.

"It's fine, Ian. I'm excited to have some more family here. Mandy's happy to finally get to know you better and the kids have been talking about today for weeks now."

Ian smiled at the mention of his niece and nephew.

"Plus, I didn't pay a college tuitions worth of money for rehab so you can you right back to Clyde once you're out."

He felt a stab of guilty conscience when he saw Ian flinch at the name of his ex lover. Ian looked down to the floor until Lip grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him onto the next room.

"Stop moping around. You're staying here. It's awesome, let me show you the rest of the place."

There were two bedrooms, plus a big bathroom and a kitchen that looked like it had come straight out of one of these cooking shows on TV. The rooms were all extremely tall, as usual for old buildings and the floors creaked sometimes but all in all it was heaven. Ian placed his bag on the bed and went back to the living room where Lip was sitting on the couch, concentrated on his phone.

"So," he said, while Lip quickly put his phone in his pocket, scooting over for Ian to have room to sit down.

"I think I'll unpack later. What's the plan for today? You got somewhere to be?"

His brother intertwined his hands in his lap and avoided his eyes.

"No, I thought we could spend the rest of the day together. You know, catch up and stuff. I got tickets to the Mets game at four. You wanna go?"

Ian looked at him incredulously.

"What do you mean do I wanna go? I haven't even had a TV for the last months, I'm dying for some entertainment."

Lip nodded his head, relieved, then his expression turned serious again.

 

"Ian. How are you doing? I mean really? You feeling any better?"

There it was. The conversation Ian had tried to somehow avoid was written all over his brothers face. It was hard, talking about his situation and his feelings when he, himself had no clue how the fuck he was doing. Everything that had happened in the past year while he was on a variety of different drugs was stored away somewhere in his brain and he had avoided to get it out and face it properly so far and he was planning on keeping it that way. At least for now.

"Lip, I'm fine. They wouldn't have released me if they thought otherwise." Lip nodded.

"Yes, I know. But they don't know you like I do. I know that you've mastered the art of keeping everything to yourself and suffering in silence. I get if you don't want to talk about all this yet, but if you do, I'm here for you. Name a single time I've let you down!"

Ian smiled at his brothers words.

"I can't think of one. Thank you, man!"

They hugged awkwardly for a moment, then Lip harrumphed and started biting his nails. Ian smirked.

"You would love a cigarette right now, wouldn't you?" His brother smiled, caught in the act and took his finger out of his mouth.

"It's fine. If you can do it, I can do it easily." He ducked in time before Ians fist hit his upper arm. They wrestled playfully for a while until they were both out of breath, sitting on the floor.

"Seems like you could really use a little exercise." Lip mocked as he eyed his brother who was wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Fuck you, you're one to talk. What's this, huh?", Ian huffed as he pinched into his brothers spare tire.

 

* * *

 

There was noise everywhere. The people inside Citi Field Stadium were screaming, laughing and singing everywhere and Ian grew more and more uncomfortable each minute. Thinking about it now, coming to a Baseball game probably hadn't been the best idea but now they were here and Ian was determined not to show any weakness in front of his brothers. Lip was already too worried about him and he didn't need his younger brother to feed him more reasons to be.

Lip and him had bought a bunch of different stuff from a bald, sweaty dude in a striped uniform and a hawker's tray and his brother was munching away next to him, eyes glued on the game, hands inside a big bag of salty popcorn. Ian himself had his hands around a hot dog but he hadn't even looked at it since Lip had gave it to him.

Besides all the different noises, there were all these smells, too, proving to be way more difficult to handle than Ian had thought. A few rows below them, somebody was smoking a cigarette, the smoke swirling its way to Ians nose.

On his left, a bunch of teenage kids had managed to get a cup of beer from somewhere, which they were now passing around for everyone to have a sip. The kid sitting next to Ian, a blond, teenage boy with acne and round glasses was next in line, but he failed to grab the drink so it fell on the ground and spilled all over everything, spreading the smell that made Ian long for a sip of the cool beverage.  
He tried to suffer through it for a few minutes, Lip beside him oblivious to what was going on, but he knew he had reached his limit.

Without another word he jumped up, threw the hot dog onto the kids lap and ran like he was being chased, away from all the temptation and into the mens bathroom, where all the good smells were covered up by the stench of piss and sweat. Just this once, Ian was actually thankful that most men were such pigs when it came to public bathrooms.

He ran his hands through the cold water and leaned on to the sink. He had known getting from the most protected rehabilitation center to the real world would be tough, but he was still surprised of how difficult it actually still was for him to resist from relapsing, when every part of his being was screaming for it.

_One day at a time._ That had been the mantra that Dr. Rosery had always told him when he had a particularly rough day. One day at a time was easier said than done, when all he wanted to do was go back into the ranks and ask around if somebody was selling anything.

It didn't take more than five minutes until the door swung open and Lip appeared, cheeks flushed and a piece of popcorn stuck to his lower lip. Ian chuckled and shook his head shortly, ordering his body to get its shit together.

"Ian, you okay? Where the fuck did you disappear to? The redhead shrugged and made a gesture around the room.

"What does it look like? I had to take a piss." Lip laughed but he could still see the worry in his eyes. That look of a mixture between pity and worry that he had seen from everyone in his family and that he had grown to despise.

Lip seemed to see through his charades because he offered Ian an easy way out of the situation without embarassing him.

"Looks like the Mets are gonna loose. You ready to get out of here? Ian nodded and walked through the door that Lip was holding open for him.

 

* * *

 

"Have you thought about diving back into the dating world?"

Lip asked as they walked to the restaurant that, according to Lip was only a couple of blocks from the stadium. Ian huffed. He was far from over the whole Clyde fiasko so dating definitely wasn't on the menu. He was, however, a man with basic human needs, so he saw nothing wrong with looking for a little fun.

"Not really ready to do that, yet."

Ian answered truthfully. They stood by the side of the road, waiting for the caravan of taxis to clear and give them a chance to cross the road. Ian scanned the front of the restaurant to maybe already get a glimpse of the menu when he saw something else.

"Scratch what I just said. I'm willing to do whatever that dude over there wants me to do."

Lip chuckled and let his eyes wander to see who his brother was crushing on. The smile froze on his face when he realized who Ians eyes were glued to. He stopped Ian, who was about to use the rare chance of a free street to head over to the restaurant and turned towards him.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. You and that guy."

Ian furrowed his brows and eyed him questioningly. Lip looked sheepishly to the floor when he continued talking.

"Look, man, I didn't know how to tell you this, earlier, so I've been kind of putting it off throughout today. The guy is a sober companion I hired for you. We're going to have dinner with him now to get to know him."

Ian felt like a mouse who was realizing that the cheese cube it was munching on, really was part of a mouse trap and Lips words were the metal wire that was snapping down on him, breaking his neck.

All the happiness and good mood suddenly turned into anger and frustration. Instead of giving in and acting on them, he turned around and started walking away.

It only took seconds until Lip had caught up with him. He grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and forced him to face him.

  
"Listen, Ian. This is not meant as a punishment, I'm only trying to help you."

His expressions was helpless and sorrow was radiating from his eyes. Ian took a deep breath, reminding himself that his addiction hadn't only destroyed his life, it had also affected the lives of his family, especially Lip.

"I can't do this. I told you I'm fine." His brother nodded, but it was obvious he still had doubts about that.

"Look, it's non negociable. You wanna live here and have your own place and everything, that's my condition. It's scheduled for six weeks, then we'll go from there."

He could see that his words weren't really pushing Ian in the right direction, so he rowed backwards. "Just come with, listen what he has to say and decide after the dinner how you wanna proceed."

Lip knew, he wasn't really giving Ian an option, but he had been prepared by Mr. Carter that something like Ians current reaction was likely to happen.

His brother was fuming. It was obvious. He was practically radiating anger with his clenched fists and trembling lower lip but Lip wasn't going to back down so he gently pushed Ian across the street when the road became clear again.

 

* * *

 

Mickey was early. Not usually his style, but with new employers it was always wise to seem eager and overpunctual. He was standing in front of the restaurant that Phillip Gallagher had ordered him to and he had his hands in his pockets to shield them from the slicing cold wind. He had been looking forward to take a break from his usual diet of deep dish pizza and pepsi, but given that he was standing in front of an Italian place, his excitement was bound to be disappointed.

Just as he was about to loose his nose to the frostbite, he saw two men heading across the street, one of them fitting the description of Phillip Gallagher, Mr. Carter had given him.  
He was accompanied by a redheaded adonis of a man. About a foot taller than his brother, Ian Gallagher seemed broad and muscular underneath his black leather jacket. He was wearing slim fitting jeans that fit him perfectly and dark, rundown sneakers.

All in all, Mickey was sure it wouldn't be hard at all to keep an eye on the ginger, who was looking as if somebody had just murdered his family. They reached the other side of the street seconds after and Phillip Gallagher shook his hand when he introduced himself.

"Mr. Milkovich. Good to meet you. I'm Lip, this is my brother Ian."

Mickey offered the redhead a hand, but he just stared him down without moving.

"Hello, Ian. Nice to meet you." He earned a scoff and Ian shot his brother a deathglare.

"Yeah, can't say I feel the same way." Mickey smiled. This wasn't his first rodeo.

"Well, we'll see if I can change that." Ian sighed and turned to face his brother.

"Why is he talking like our demented english teacher Mr. Jackson?"

Lip smiled at Mickey, mouthing an apology but he didn't mind.

"I had an english teacher named Mr. Jackson, too. See? Already something in common."

Over the past two years working this job, Mickey had made a game out trying to piss off his protegés with being overly nice and Ian was a very easy target. One of the things that came with his job was that not many people he worked with liked him but he didn't mind, preferred it even.

They entered the restaurant and sat down in a booth that was a bit apart from the rest of the tables. Mickey sat on one side, the Gallagher brothers on the other.

Lip tried hard to get a conversation between the both of them going, but his brother didn't give him much to work with.

He was staring at his phone in his hands and ignored everybody that tried to talk to him. Mickey tolerated it for a few minutes, talking about the game the Gallaghers had just been to, then he decided that he was done being ignored and snatched the phone out of the gingers hand.

Their hands touched during the action and Mickey tried to overlook the tingling feeling in his stomach. He would have to figure that out later, when there wasn't a redheaded pitbull staring at him, ready to jump his throat and kill him.

"What the fuck?" Ian muffled, trying not to make a scene in public.

Lip had a hand on his brothers arm and talked to him soothingly. He held the phone up and demonstratively put it into the pocket of his jacket.

"Alright, listen here, joker. You wanna behave like a little girl? That's fine. But you listen to me for five minutes before you decide you're too good for this."

Ian didn't respond he just kept glaring and yanked his brothers hand off of him.

"Good. So, here's how the sober companion thing works: We leave here later, I come with you. I live with you for six weeks. If at the end of that you're sober and good to go, I leave you alone. If not, you'll go back to rehab. If you're sober but I think you're in danger of relapsing, I stay a while longer."

Ian had calmed down now and it seemed like he was listening. Defiant, but listening.

"Now, here's my rules. Honesty, Transparancy, privacy. You feel like you wanna use, you come to me. You feel like you might want a drink to calm down, you tell me. It's easy. As long as you stick to the rules, I'll be a pleasure to have as a house guest." Ian opened his mouth to say something, but Mickey wasn't done yet.

"And the last thing, and this is important. Do not, I repeat, do not disturb me while I watch Game Of Thrones."

The redhead rolled his light green eyes and Mickey tried not to think about how hot he looked doing it.

Hot, male and pissed off, that's how he liked his men and Ian fit right in. But this wasn't going to happen here, this was a work thing.

Or so Mickey told himself.

 

* * *

 

 

After what must have been the most infuriating dinner Ian had ever been a part of, the three of them headed back to Lips car.

He did not like it one bit, but he didn't have any other option than to agree to his brothers conditions. It was only six weeks after all, then that Milkovich character would get ouf of his apartment.

Six weeks wasn't a very long time. Not a lot could happen in six weeks, Ian thought, oblivious to how utterly wrong he was.


	2. Tough Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's an addict and sometimes addicts need tough love. Mickey's specialty.

_The yawning had begun again and soon the tears would start streaming down his face, leaving trails of salt on his freckled cheeks. He could feel the pain starting in his feet, working its way up until his whole body was throbbing and aching, desperate for the brown sugar he had been feeding it for weeks now. He tried to stand up and get to the glass of water on the table in the living room, but he couldn't quite move his legs the way he wanted to so he stayed still on the floor, breathing heavily._

  
_"Clyde?" He managed to creak out but there was no response to his call. Typical, he thought and started giggling. He was never here when he needed him to be. The giggling soon turned to manic laughter, echoing from the walls of the poorly furnished hotel room, making his ears ring._

  
_If Clyde wasn't going to arrive soon, with more replenishment, the dry vomiting would begin again and his sore throat wasn't likely to survive it without injury this time. This power play Clyde was playing, again and again was making him fall apart but he was too far gone to break away now._

  
_Time passed and the seconds felt like years, but there was still no sign of his supplier anywhere. No keys scratching on the door, no approaching footsteps from the hallway. He could feel his stomach clench together and the pain forced him into a fetal position. It was too late. The vomiting would begin any minute now._

  
_He tried to scream, as if that would keep his body from demanding more of the brown sugar it so desperately needed, but nothing came out._

 

"GALLAGHER!" Ian opened his eyes and met a pair of sharp, blue ones, inches away from his face. Mickey was sitting by his bedside, his hands on his shoulders, shaking him.

"Calm down, Ian. It's a dream. You're safe here." Ian was breathing heavily and he could feel that his whole body was drenched in sweat.

Mickey backed away when he was sure that his protege was awake and handed him a wet towel. Ian rubbed his hands over his face, trying to comprehend what had just happened, then grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his lower arms, trying to cool his whole body.

Mickey furrowed his brows, placing a hand on the redheads blanket, where he suspected his leg to be, speaking softly.

"Hey, are you with me?" Ian sat up on the bed and lifted his head to face the blackhaired man. "What the hell just happened?" Mickey smiled a small smile and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were puffy and there was an imprint of crumpled sheets on his face. Ian turned his head to check the time and sighed when the digital alarm clock displayed it was 3:30 am.

"My question exactly. You screamed like somebody was gutting you in your bed so I came to check on you." He shrugged and Ian turned his nightlight on. In this light, he could see a violet, blue spot forming underneath Mickeys left eye.

"What happened there?" Ian asked, pointing to the other boys face. Mickey scoffed in disbelief. "You fucking decked me in the face, man." Ian lowered his head guiltily until he heard Mickey chuckle. Now that he mentioned it, Ian felt a stinging pain in his right hand. He shot his companion a contrite smile and shrugged.

"Sorry." Although he wasn't really. He didn't even want Mickey to be here in the first place, so it was his own fault for storming into his room. Also, he looked like he knew how to take a punch.

"It's all good. You really know how to defend your sleep and I respect that." He grinned goofily, which made him look unbelievably hot, even with the shiner on his face. Ian smiled.

"Well, thanks for waking me, I guess, but I'm fine now, you can go back to sleep." Mickey raised his brows at the subtle hint but he got up and left Ians room without another word.

* * *

"Well, thanks for waking me, I guess, but I'm fine now, you can go back to sleep." Mickey got the hint and left the room instantly.

Gallagher wasn't warming up to his presence as quickly as he had hoped, but it wasn't the first time a client wasn't happy about him intruding his home, so he wasn't offended by it.

The two days he had been in the redheads apartment now had gone by fast. Mickey had tried to instigate a conversation multiple times, but it had been like talking to a brick wall.

The last and only time he had heard Ian talk was in the car when Lip dropped them off, inviting them to sunday lunch at his home.

"Of course I'll come. I've got presents for the kids and everything." There had been a warmth to Ians voice that Mickey hadn't heard from him at all.

He walked over to his own room and flopped back down onto the bed.

* * *

"What's with the shitty shirt?" Mickey asked when Ian was finally done getting ready the next day, wearing a black polo shirt with a tiger on it, covered in rhine stones, titled 'Ed Hardy'.

Ian gave him the finger and put on the leather jacket, he had worn the first time Mickey had seen him across the street. Other than that, he looked as delicious as always.

His tight jeans were tugged into big black leather boots and his ginger hair was slicked back with what looked like a ton of hairgel.

He shook his head to get his thoughts back to normal again and stepped forward to hinder Ian from opening the front door.

  
"Not so fast, John Travolta. We've got some stuff to do before we leave!" Ian rolled his eyes and crossed his arms before his chest, while Mickey grabbed a drug test out of his pocket.

"Gimme a yellow autograph!" Ian looked at him questioningly, then Mickey saw it click behind his eyes and he shook his head vehemently. "No fucking way. I'm not peeing on anything." Now it was Mickeys turn to roll his eyes. He was getting tired of Ian constantly testing his patience. Not long until he was done playing nice.

  
"I'll get you to piss on this stick one way or another, so you might as well make this easier for both of us and just fucking take a leak. It's not that hard." Ian looked at him, now more curious than pissed off.

"How do you get someone to piss on a stick? I cannot think of a scenario where you could just convince someone to.." Ian pondered on about how one would be able to do such a thing and Mickey smiled at him amusedly.

  
"Let's just say I take matters into my own hands and leave it like that." Mickey laughed when he saw Ian grasp what he was saying. The redhead cupped his crotch protectively and shot him a indignant look.

"That's just sick. Fucking fine, I'll piss on the damn stick. Jesus." Mickey smiled triumphantly and let Ian snatch the test out of his hands. There was nothing better, than a good lie to get what he wanted.

"Good boy!" He sat down on the couch and listened to the bathroom door slam shut behind Ian. A couple of minutes later, he returned, holding the test gingerly. Mickey, who had put on plastic gloves took it from him and waited for the results to process.

"So, this is definitely one of the weirder things I've done in my life. What's wrong with the test with the cotton swab? That's what they used in rehab. You prefer to get in contact with a lot of pee?" , Ian asked to break the awkward silence that had formed while they both stared at a small paper strip with Ians urine on it.

Mickey shook his head and lightly slapped the back of Ians head, which Ian returned instantly.

"Yup, you got me. I fucking love pee. That's the only reason I use this test. Don't ask stupid fucking questions, Gallagher. The test is more effective, that's all." He took another look at the the strip in his hand and nodded contently.

"Alright, clean as a whistle. We're good to go." Ian huffed and shook his head.

"And what makes you think you're coming with, huh?" Mickey threw the stick and gloves into the garbage and reached for his jacket on the backrest of the sofa.

"Because your brother invited me and we're not suppossed to be apart for more than two hours. Now quit bitching and move or we're gonna be late."

* * *

In spite of Mickey's efforts, they arrived almost half an hour late at Lips apartment on the lower east side. They took the elevator up to the seventh floor and were greeted by Lip who had a young boy in his arms.

"You're late." he said with a smile and shook Mickeys hand. Ian didn't even pay attention anymore. His eyes were glued onto the little boy his brother was holding.

He couldn't have been more than a year old, Mickey thought, a year and a half at the most. The redhead reached his hands out and gently lifted the boy to his chest.

"Hi, Noah. I haven't seen you in forever. You've gotten so big."

The baby reached a hand out to touch Ians face and he smiled at the contact, seeming more relaxed than Mickey had ever seen him.

They looked, and Mickey shuddered at his own choice of words, cute together. It was making him even more attractive than he already was.

Mickeys thought process was interrupted when he felt something tugging on his right leg. He looked down and met the eyes of a little girl with thick, black hair and blue eyes, similar to his own, staring up at him.

He grinned and kneeled on the floor so he was at the same height level as her. "Hi, little lady." He feinted a bow and the young girl giggled.

"Are you Ian's boyfriend? He is gay. Daddy told me." Mickey laughed and shook his head. "No, I'm Mickey, I work with your uncle."

She nodded, herface lighting up. She pointed a finger to his nose and tapped it lightly. "Mickey Mouse." He fought an eyeroll as he forced himself to smile at her words.

Mickey Mouse was a nickname that he hadn't heard in a long time.

"You must be Snow White then, right?" The girl giggled again and played with the seam of her Snow White Dress. "Yes, I am. But you can call me Leah!" Mickey laughed and reached a hand out for her to shake. Her eyes got stuck at the sight of his knuckle tattoos.

"What does that say on your hands?" Mickey was startled for a second, looking up to Lip who was watching them, an amused smile on his face.

"Um," Mickey stammered, trying to come up with something to say. He held out both of his fists in front of her so she could see the full lettering.

"Uh, it says. D - U - C - KS, which means Ducks .And the other hands says 4 - eva. I, uh, had this made, because i love ducks. Do you like ducks, too?"

Mickeys face felt bright red and he tried to ignore the muffled laughter coming from the Gallagher brothers behind him. Leah nodded and traced the letters on his hands when her mother appeared in the room.

She was tall, thin and very beautiful. Her hair was dark like her daughters and she had bangs that almost reached down to her eyes. She smiled politely at Mickey.

"Hi, welcome to our home, bla bla bla. I think we're a little past the formalities, huh?" Mickey got up and shook her hand, nodding.

"Yeah, still, thanks for the invite." They grinned at each other and Mickey couldn't shake the feeling that he instantly liked her.

"Nice black eye. Who's it from?" Mickey touched his eye, as if to check if the blue spot was still hurting, then nodded towards Ian.

"Sleeping Beauty over there does not like to be woken up, you know?" She looked at her brother-in-law who was taking off his jacket and her blue eyes became cold instantly.

"What's with the shitty shirt?" Ian rolled his eyes and pointed his finger at his companion. "That's what she said." That was the whole conversation between Ian and Mandy and Mickey didn't know if he wanted to find out why Mandy's glared at her brother-in-law everytime she was sure her husband didn't notice.

* * *

Mandy served homemade Lasagne for lunch and it tasted amazing. Mickey was at his third portion, enjoying a home cooked meal for once while Lip was desperately trying to get some kind of conversation going on the table that everyone could be part of.

His attempts failed because Mickey was too busy shoveling deliciousness into his mouth, while Mandy didn't talk to Ian at all. So Lip was left talking with his 4 year old daughter about Disney princesses and the Star Wars Movie she had watched with her daddy.

Lip was proud that both those things brought her equally as much joy. After another few minutes of uncomfortable silence and furtive glances, Ian put his fork down.

"I've got to go to the bathroom. Mickey, you wanna come?" Mickey glared at him suspiciously with his mouth full of food.

"Why?" he murmured, successfully avoiding to paint the white tablecloth red with tomatoe sauce. Ian shrugged. "I don't know. Just thought I asked because you said we can't be apart for too long." Mickey tried to stay calm and reminded himself that he couldn't curse in front of the kids.

"Is your bathroom break going to take longer than two hours?" he asked rhetorically. Ian shook his head.

"Well, in that case no. But feel free to send me a text if you miss me." Ian glared at him and left the room. Mickey wanted to get back to his food, but he caught Lip smiling brightly at him.

"What?" Mickey snapped, before realizing that Lip was the one signing his paychecks. Lip shrugged.

"Nothing. You two already bicker like two old laundrywomen. You've only been living together for two days." Mickey huffed frustratedly.

"Well, I can't help that your brother is such a little bi-" Mandy hissed at him warningly, shooting a look at her two children and he quickly stopped himself from completing his last word. "bilingual expert. I mean his french is amazing!" Mandy giggled when Ian reappeared in the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ian asked Mickey with a freaked out expression on his face. Mickey looked down on himself wondering, what he could have possibly done wrong in that moment but couldn't find anything. He felt at loss when Lip started staring at him the same way Ian was.

" _Just tell me what's wrong, Jesus!_ " Mickey snapped, umcomfortable with the amount of negative attention he was getting. Mandy was feeding the baby, so she wasn't paying attention.

"Why are you holding your fork like that?" Lip asked, his eyes glued to Mickeys hand. He was holding the fork the other way around, using the narrow end as a little spoon to get the last rest of tomatoe sauce out of the plate, like his father had taught him a long time ago.

"What? It's the best way to get all the sauce out of the curve in the plate. It might not look good, but it's effective. Plus you don't have to go get a spoon."

Before any of the Gallagher brothers could say anything, Mandy slammed her hand on the table and nodded at him excitedly.

"Amen, brother. That's exactly what I always do. They think it's weird." Lip an Ian looked at each other and shook their heads. "Fucking weirdos!" Ian sighed which earned him a punch to the stomach from Mandy. "WATCH YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE!"

* * *

They spent the rest of the day playing games with Leah while Noah was sleeping in his crib somewhere. Much to Ians disapproval, she had taken a liking to Mickey, falling asleep in his lap five minutes after they had started watching Frozen, a movie she had spend about three hours begging them to watch with her.

* * *

Back home, Ian disappeared in his room while Mickey spread out on the sofa to take a much needed food coma nap. He awoke soon after from a slap to the side of the head.

"What the fuck?" Mickey mumbled and rubbed his sore eyes. Ian was standing in front of the couch, wearing trainers and a tracksuit. "I'm gonna go for a run. I'll be back in under two hours."

Mickey sat up and took a deep breath trying to get his blood pumping and his brain working again.

"Where?" He asked and Ian was already getting bored, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other.

"I'm gonna take a taxi to Central Park. I've always wanted to go there." Mickey laughed out loud and gave Ian a mocking smile.

"Like hell you are." Ians face turned cold instantly.

"You think I'm gonna let you go to fucking Central Park in the evening? Central Park? The fucking Mekka for drug dealers?" Ian clenched his fists and growled frustratedly.

"What? I can't go for a fucking run now? What the hell am I suppossed to do all day, huh?" Mickey got up and precautionarily stood between Ian and the direction of the front door.

"I don't care what you do, but you're not going there alone."

The second the words had left his mouth, he could see a mischievous smile spread on the redheads face.

"Fine. So come with." He had dug his own grave right then and there.

Five minutes later Ian and Mickey where in a cab heading towards Manhattan and the Sober Companion wanted to punch the triumphant smile out of his proteges face.

* * *

Ian knew he had won this round and it felt fan fucking tastic. For once he had gotten Mickey to do what he wanted to do. Also, although still very unfit he was sure he could outrun his flatmate easily. Mickey was muscly and slim, but he didn't look like much of a runner. They reached Central Park when the sun was setting and Ian fumbled in his pockets for some bills to pay their driver.

Mickey gave Ian a push to get out of the car. "I got it!" He fished a twenty dollar bill out of his sweatpants and handed them to the man.

Outside, Ian was already running on the spot, eagerly waiting for his training partner.

"You ready?" Ian asked but Mickey just laughed and ran past him, like somebody was chasing him. Ian caught up quickly.

The first 15 minutes they ran next to each other, neither of them ready to show any weakness by slowing down so they practically sprinted through Central Park, avoiding casual strollers and jumping over leaches and small dogs, but after a while Mickey fell back. He had recently quit smoking, but his longue apparently hadn't gotten the memo.

He was out of breath and wheezing pathetically, his chest aching due to the lack of oxygen. Mickey could hear Ians celebratory laugh as he kept his pace and sprinted out of sight.

They continued like that. Every now and then Ian would slow down until Mickey was in sight again, making sure he had the evidence of his defeat in eyesight and Mickey kept going, unwilling to humiliate himself by stopping before Ian did.

Just when Mickey thought he was going to spend all of eternity running around Central Park, he saw Ian about half a mile in front of him stopping. He used the last remaining bit of energy to sprint towards the bench Ian had sat down at and flopped down next to him. Their run had taken them to a offside part of the park and they were the only ones there.

There was trash, bottles and stinking blankets piled up all around the bench, a sour stench in the air and the darkhaired boy couldn't shake the feeling that all of it looked weirdly in order to just be random trash.  
Ian was staring at the ground beneath him and Mickey was waiting for the gloating to start but nothing happened.

"You swallow your tongue on the way here?" He asked, still breathing heavily. Ian finally looked up, his expression serious and his eyes unfocussed. Something was wrong but Mickey couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

"I had forgotten what it smelled like, you know." He was oblivious as to Ian was referring to. "What do you mean?" Ian moved his left foot to the side and revealed a dirty, broken syringe, partly dug up in the black dirt on the ground. Mickey shot up and groped Ians arm ruggedly.

"Tell, me you did not just use that needle." Mickey surprised himself by going apeshit instantly. It wasn't possible, he'd had Ian in sight for the entire time he had ben sitting on the bench there. His boiling blood cooled down a few degrees when Ian shook his head weakly. "Relax, it was like this when I got here. But do you smell this?"

He sounded broken and vulnerable, nothing left from the strong minded, glib man he had been in the last few days. He looked just like the night before, when Mickey had woken him up.

"Cooked heroin. Brings back memories." Mickey pulled on Ians arm and guided him away from the acidic, pungent vinegar smell in the air.

When his foot accidentally got caught in one of the blankets, something beneath it started moving and cursing at him loudly and suddenly Mickey knew why the trash looked wrong and why the heroin smell was still fresh. They'd ran their way right into some homeless people's camp.

Before anything could emerge from underneath that pile of moldy duvets, Mickey yanked Ian with him away from the temptation.

* * *

20 bucks and a silent cab ride later, Mickey sat a sallow Ian down on the sofa, wrapped him in a blanket and ran off to the kitchen to make a cup of strong coffee.

After Ian had taken a few sips, the color came back into his cheeks and Mickey kneeled down in front of him, gently padding his damp hair. "Feel better?" Ian nodded, embarassed and frustrated by his showing weakness. Mickey took a deep relieved breath then stood up, arms akimbo.

"Good. Now that you're better..." He took a step forward and flicked Ians forehead. "OW! What the fuck was that for?" Ian stared at him, rubbing his pounding head.

"Here's a crazy idea: Next time you find a used needle or you smell _fucking HEROIN_ don't sit down and write a fucking sonnett about it in your head. LEAVE! If you don't, I will fucking punch you in the face." He threw his hands up in frustration. He was getting so worked up over this, while usually with other clients it wasn't hard for him to stay calm.

A few soothing breaths later, Mickey kneeled down in front of Ian again who was looking at his hands guiltily.

"I think you get what I'm saying, so for now, let's just agree not to go to central park again. Like ever." Ian grinned and the crooked smile made a dimple appear on one side of his face. Mickey had to use all his strength not to reach out his hand and touch it.

"That suits you fine, doesn't it? You just don't wanna go back there because I beat your ass." Mickey scoffed. "Bullshit. I was letting you win." Ian laughed at the pathetic attempt to keep his dignity. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mickey."

The darkhaired man shook his head, smiling and switched on the TV.

"We've got to work on your fitness, you know that, right?" Ian asked after a while. "We've got to work on your sobriety, man." Ian twisted and wriggled around until he found a comfortable position to sit in and rested his head on the arm rest.

"Let's do both." He mumbled before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter two.  
> Thanks to everyone who left a kudos or a comment on the last chapter. I love reading your comments  
> and they're always such a good motivation to keep writing!  
> I'm really enjoying writing this and I hope you like this chapter!


	3. Garlic Spaghetti

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old Boyfriends..

The next couple of days were spent with drug tests, silence and another run, this time through Flushing Meadows Corona Park.

Several movies and stupid TV shows couldn't cure the exhaustion that todays run had caused him, so Ian excused himself and went to bed. He had been acting weird the whole day, Mickey thought, suddenly talking a lot more, laughing and being what would have come off as nice if he hadn't known better.

It was late now, close to midnight and Mickey switched off the TV and headed to the bathroom to turn on the shower.

He returned to the living room and shut off the light, waiting by the front door. His body was aching already from his run earlier and he was sure tomorrow morning the pain was only going to be worse.  
He didn't have to wait long, ten minutes maybe, until he heard Ians door open and close quietly and the footsteps that were coming closer confirmed Mickeys hunch.

"Didn't take you for a sleep walker, Gallagher!" He switched on the light and Ian looked at him with eyes as big as saucers. Mickey chuckled at the sight of his meant-to-be unobtrusive outfit. He was dressed in all black, his boots in his hands walking on tiptoes to make as little noise as possible.

 

Ians face fell quickly when he realized that Mickey had been waiting by the door. "What the fuck are you doing standing there in the dark?"

He chucked his shoes on the ground frustratedly, when Mickey walked up to him, gently pushing him back to his room. "You're as easy to figure out as you are to look at, Ian Gallagher. Now, I'm going to take a shower and if you leave this apartment while I'm in there", he pointed to the bathroom "I'm going to punch you."

Ian sat down on his bed, his face flushed with embarassment, while Mickey gave him a last warning look before closing the door.

"Ridiculous!" Mickey yelled as he took off his clothes and jumped in the shower. He squealed when the ice cold water hit his head.

Unfortunately, his maneuver had used up all the hot water, so he moved quickly to get out of the shower as fast as possible. Once he was dry and in some fresh clothes, he walked back to Ians room, knocking twice before opening the door. He was in the same position he had left him in, his face pale and tired.

Mickey felt all the rage and anger leave his body at the sight, so he skipped his tirade and sat down on the bed next to the redhead.

"Where were you heading just now?" Ian didn't answer, didn't even lift his head to face his companion and Mickey sighed.

"Ian? Listen, I'm not a big talker and you don't seem to be, either. But you've got to let me in a little bit. Tell me what's going on, so I can help you, you know." He hesitated, then reached out a hand to touch the redheads shoulder. Ian looked up, his eyes so green Mickey could hardly focuss on anything else.

"I wasn't gonna buy drugs or anything, if that's what you think." Mickey doubted that and it seemed to be written all over his face. Ian let out a little laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I can see how you would find that hard to believe." He paused, trying to find the right words to say. "It's just, I feel trapped you know? Just needed some air." Mickey shrugged. "You could've just told me. We can go out, that's no problem." Ian sighed frustratedly. He got up and started pacing .

"That's the whole point. You not coming with." Mickey ran a hand through his damp hair.

"Ouch. You can go out without me, no problem. You know that. You've done that. But you can't blame me for being suspicious at you sneaking out in the middle of the night with your shoes in your hands, when you said you were going to bed." He got up and walked towards the door.

"What's my one rule, huh?" Ian squinted, trying to remember. "No interrumpting while Game Of Thrones is on?"

Mickey huffed and nodded. "True. But that's not the one I meant."

Ian shrugged. "I got nothing." They both stood silent, waiting for the other one to continue the conversation. Mickey gave in first. "Honesty, dumbass. Just be fucking honest."

Ian raised his hands in surrender, a small smile on his lips. "Alright, alright. Honesty, got it. Sorry." Mickey nodded.

"Good. Now I'm gonna go to bed and don't you dare sneak out again, because I'm so fucking sore, I can barely move. So don't make me run after you, or you'll be sorry." He smiled when he saw Ian chuckle, then left the room.

 

When he had almost reached his bedroom door, he heard Ian behind him.

"Can I ask you something?" Mickey turned around and looked at the ginger. "What?" Ian crossed his arms before his body and leaned against the wall.

"Why choose this job? Doesn't seem like something fun to do." Mickeys face hardened.

His eyes turned cold and the smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Ian regretted asking before he had even finished the sentence.

"None of your business. Don't ask me about that again." Without another look, he disappeared into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

Ian was awoken by his phone ringing early the next day. It was Lip announcing he would come over in half an hour with breakfast and coffee. Ian got up hesitantly and whined when he realized it was only 7:30.  
He passed Mickeys room on his way to shower and knocked twice, receiving a spate of exotic curses, most of he hadn't even heard before, in response.

"Lip's coming over with breakfast. Get your ass up." He heard a loud bump and something shattering on the floor, then some more cursing and the sound of Mickey slowly getting out of bed. Ian laughed and went to take a shower.

 

Lip arrived early, as usual, so Mickey opened the door, only wearing his boxers and a tank top. "Mornin'", he mumbled before disappearing in his room to finish getting dressed.

The lawyer beamed like he had been up for hours and marched into the kitchen, placing 3 large coffees and a big bag of pastries on the dinner table.

"Good morning!", he sang when his brother came scuffing into the room, his red hair damp and dark from the shower, eyes puffy. He waved weakly with one hand and grabbed one of the paper cups, sitting down.

 

Lip sat next to him, lowering his voice. "So how are you guys getting along? Everything okay here?" Ian looked at him confusedly for a few seconds until grasping what he was referring to. "Yeah, everything cool." Lip nodded contently and looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped when Mickey entered the room.

"It's too early for you to run around town getting coffee and shit. Why not stay in bed and sleep a little longer?" He looked at Lip and shook his head in disappointment. The lawyer shrugged. "Mandys mother showed up for a surprise visit last night. I'm just trying to get out of the house, you know? I don't have to be at work until nine."

  
Ian smiled. "Really? Laura's here? I should go over there, then." Lip avoided looking at him when he answered.

"I don't think that's the best idea. She's out of sorts with you, right now."

Ian furrowed his brows and frowned into his coffee. "Why?" His brother raised his head and gave him a telling look.

"You know why!" They both stopped talking after that, leaving Mickey confused and uncomfortable at the other side of the table. He harrumphed, eager to change the subject.

"Uh, so, we're gonna go to group today, for the first time." Lip nodded interestedly and took a bite of his bagel.

"Sounds fun." he mumbled with his mouth full and Ian scoffed sarcastically.

"Yeah, gonna be a blast." Mickey rolled his eyes at him.

"Don't knock it, till you've tried it."

 

When their cups were emptied and the bag of pastries only a crumpled ball of paper in the trash, Lip spread out on the couch, forcing Mickey and Ian to sit on the floor.

"Seriously, Laura drives me crazy. She spent the evening yesterday going through our apartment and pointing out everything, she thought, was wrong. And that was a lot."

He shook his head. "What have you guys been up to?" Ian shot Mickey a glare and he rolled his eyes.

"Not much. I'm pretty bored here most of the time." Lip frowned. "So do something. Computer, TV, music, anything. There's a lot of shit you can do, Ian." The redheads eyebrows shot to his hairline at the mention of music.

 

"Ah yes, Music." Mickey scoffed loudly. "Not this again." Ian shrugged. "Oh yes, this again. See, Lip, I was listening to music on sunday night, until somebody came storming into the living room, because somebody had to watch Game of Thrones urgently." Mickey rolled his eyes.

"I've told you a bunch of times when it's on. Not my fault you forgot. Plus you could have easily listened to music some other time." Ian sighed but didn't respond. They'd had this argument extensively on sunday evening, after the show was over.

Lip laughed and eyed them curiously.

"Game of Thrones? The one with all the incest where everybody dies? Mandy loves that show. Who's your favorite?" The companion was about to open his mouth, but Ian answered for him.

"The blonde bitch. You know, the albino one." Mickey looked at him quizzically. "Fuck no!"

Ian scoffed. "Oh come on. I saw you rewatch all her scenes on that DVD." The darkhaired man puffed up and crossed his arms before his chest.

"That was in my room on my laptop. Why the fuck do you know that?" Lip watched the both of them, an entertained look on his face.

"Your door was open, I walked past and saw what you were watching. It's no big deal. Just admit that you wanna tap that." Mickey relaxed and laughed.

"Definitely not."

 

They bickered on about the subject until Lip got up. They looked up to him syncronically a quizzical look on both faces.

"Where are you going?", Ian asked. Lip shrugged.

"Work. By the way, I'd much rather go back and spend time with Laura than to listen to your stupid argument for another second. Seriously, fuck!" 

He grabbed his briefcase and left the apartment without another word. Ian sighed and focussed on his hands.

"Thanks for not saying anything about Central Park or yesterday evening." Mickey shrugged and moved over to sit on the couch. "No problem." Ian joined him and eyed him interestedly.

"Why didn't you, though? Just curious." His flatmate looked up at him, wearing a small smile.

"Nothing happened. I'm not obligated to tell him anything unless you relapse, which is not going to happen, so we're good." Ian sighed.

"You sound so sure." He wished he could be that confident in himself, but he wasn't. Mickey reached a hand out and put it on his arm, sending sparks through Ian's body.

"Ian, you've got this. I am 100% sure you won't relapse." The redhead tried to find a good response but all he seemed to be able to think off was how close Mickey was and how easy it would have been to bend forward and kiss him.

 

Before he could act on his thoughts, Mickey retracted his hand and got up.

"I'm gonna go back to bed and sleep some more. Wake me in, let's say, three hours."

 

* * *

"Welcome members to the meeting. I'd like to open this meeting with a moment of silence for the addict who still suffers, followed by the Serenity Prayer. This is an “open” Narcotics Anonymous meeting. We’d like to welcome any nonaddict visitors and thank you for your interest in Narcotics Anonymous. We ask that you respect the primary purpose of this meeting, which is to provide a place where addicts can share their recovery with one another."

The room fell in silence for a couple of seconds, then the leader asked who wanted to share with the group. A middle-aged blonde woman got up and walked up to the front of the group.

"My name is Mary and I am a recovering drug addict." She stood insecurely with her hands clamped around the edge of the lectern, staring sheepishly into the room.

"Hi, Mary", everbody greeted back mechanically.

 

The room Mickey had led Ian to was quite big, with a podest in the front and chairs and benches next to it, reminding Ian somewhat of a church. He was sitting in the back, a strategically elected place, closest to the entrance. He had a habit of running away from things and this was the best place for a quick and easy escape, although here, Ian doubted he would come very far with Mickey next to him, watching his every move out of the corner of his eye.

 

Ian was convinced that him being here was useless but his companion had been persistent and hadn't allowed any of Ians well thought out excuses to keep them from taking a taxi to the NA Meeting.

The woman by the door had pushed a flier into Ian's hand, reading "The Twelve Steps of Narcotics Anonymous".

Now that the woman at the front was talking about herself and her story, Ian saw nothing better to do than to read through it.

_1\. We admitted that we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable._   
_2\. We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity._   
_3\. We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him._   
_4\. We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves._   
_5\. We admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs._   
_6\. We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character._   
_7\. We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings._   
_8\. We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all._   
_9\. We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others._   
_10\. We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it._   
_11\. We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we_   
_understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out._   
_12\. Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message_   
_to addicts, and to practice these principles in all our affairs._

 

"Are you kidding me with all this god-shit?", he asked Mickey silently, who rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Just because the twelve steps are weird doesn't mean that the support group is shit. You would know that if you would fucking listen for one minute."

Ian cringed as he read through the sheet again and folded it into a paper airplane which earned him a slap on the fingers and a deadly glare from Mickey.

He leaned towards his protege and whispered sharply into his ear.

"Pay attention, Gallagher!" Ian rolled his eyes and let the paper plane sink to the floor.

 

Mary, in the front was talking about how her addiction had affected her two children. She was crying and sobbing and Ian was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second.

He let his eyes wander around the room and met the eyes of a green-haired man who seemed to be roughly around his age. He was eyeing him curiously, grinning when he noticed Ian looking at him. Mary ended her speech and he got up to walk to the front.

He was thin, dressed in all black and stood comfortably in front of the group. He kept his eyes glued to Ian, smirking dangerously. He was good-looking, with high cheekbones, full lips and two piercings through his left eyebrow.

 

"My name is Nick", he said lowly, "and I am a recovering drug addict. Twelve months sober as of yesterday." A few attendants applauded and Nick proudly flipped his Sobriety Chip into the air.

"Thank you! Couldn't have done it without Mickey." He pointed to Mickey and all heads turned to the last row, directing all the attention to where he sat, a sour smile on his face.

"Mickey was my saviour in hard times. I don't know why, but he was exactly what I needed when I got out of rehab."

 

His speech was all gratitude and admiration but the look on his face, and the hurt in his eyes, disguised in sarcasm and jokes didn't match. Ian peered over to Mickey who had his fists clenched and his eyes focussed on a motivational poster on the wall, breathing fast.

Ian nudged him and lent over to whisper into his ear.

"What's the deal with him? Why does he look like he wants to murder you with kindness?" Mickey unclenched his fists and met his eyes.

"How the fuck should I know? I told you to pay attention." Ian sighed.

"You know, for a sober companion, somebody who should guide me and help, you are pretty choleric and moody."

He grinned at the darkhaired man next to him, a weak attempt to calm him, but it worked and Mickey let out a small laugh.

"Well, it's been working out so far. See, a year sober."

 

He pointed towards Nick who wasn't looking as cocky anymore, suspiciously watching them whisper to each other, while talking about his recovery.

The meeting went on, different people telling different stories about their recoveries and struggles and after two hours, finally, the torture was over and Ian was free to go.

There were no taxis in sight, so they decided to walk the short way home. When they started walking, somebody screamed Mickey name.He seemed to recognize the voice, because he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

 

Ian turned around and saw Nick jogging towards them, his expression anything but friendly.

They hadn't walked very far, so he caught up quickly, coming to a stand a couple of feet in front of them.

"The fuck, Mick?" Nick asked, shrugging.

Mickey, who was chewing on his lower lip, didn't respond.

"You're not even going to talk to me?" Ian watched the conversation, confused as to what was going on. Mickey swallowed hard.

"What do you want?" Nick sighed.

"I don't know. Catch up, an explanation maybe. You never returned any of my texts or calls." Mickeys eyes were looking everywhere, except Nicks face.

"I got nothing to say." He turned around and grabbed Ian by his jacket, gently pulling him away from the green-haired man.

 

Nick was next to them again, in no time, grabbing Mickey and turning him around. Mickey's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, a dangerous smile on his face.

"You don't wanna go there!", he growled and it really looked like he would swallow Nick alive if he didn't back off. The punk seemed to be familiar with the look and quickly took a few steps back.

"Mick, come on. I'm sorry for what happened. I told you a hundred times. You can't still be angry because of that." Ian was bursting with curiosity, wishing desperately one of the two men would finally say _what_ happened, but they stood silent, glaring at each other.

"I told you last time, I'm done. Now we're gonna go. If you follow me, you'll be sorry." Nick opened his mouth to say something, but Mickey shook his head.

He walked off and Ian followed, going against his natural instincts not to turn his back on the enemy.

They walked in silence until Ian felt like Mickey had calmed down a bit, then he dared to ask.

"Um, did something happen between you and Nick when he was your protege?" Mickey scoffed, shoving his hands into his pocket. It was moments like this when he missed smoking the most.

 

"He wasn't my protege", he explained, eyes straight forward. "He was my boyfriend."

 

* * *

"You're gay?" Ian burst out when he felt like Mickey was calm enough so that he wouldn't punch him for asking. He was opening the front door to their apartment and Mickey smirked at the absolute surprise in Ians face. They shrugged off their coats and the companion headed to the kitchen, his protege following close behind.

"OH MY GOD!", Ian screamed and slammed his hand on the table. Mickey, who was pouring two glasses of Pepsi flinched and shot him a angry look when he spilled some of the liquid on himself.

"FUCKING KHAL DROGO." Mickey snickered.

"That's why you were watching those scenes again. Not because of the chick. You dig the dude." He was laughing heartily when Mickey shrugged.

"Fucking Jason Momoa, man. Can you blame me?" Ian thought about it.

"No, man. Petyr Baelish." Mickey scoffed.

"You are out of your mind. Dude's old. Like- old,old. I used to watch Wrestling with my brothers. They wouldn't have been so proud of me if they had known I was only watching it to see him."

He laughed at the memory and sat down opposite to Ian. The redhead looked at him for a couple of seconds and opened his mouth to say something, but he changed his mind. Mickey laughed and tilted his head to the side.

 

"Go ahead. Ask me about him." Ian frowned, caught in the act and took a deep breath before forming his question.

"Nick. What happened with him. Why were you so angry?" Mickey sighed, took another sip from his drink and looked down on his tattoed fingers.

"What usually happens. Fucked me over pretty bad. Didn't work out in the end." Ian nodded understandingly. Mickey seemed depleted and caught up in his own thought, so Ian jumped up, with the mission to change that.

 

"You hungry?", he asked while scanning the fridge for something edible that wasn't jello or mustard. Mickey looked up at him and nodded.

"Sure. What are we having?" Ian shrugged. "Well, as always we have nothing fresh. How about Garlic Spaghetti?" Mickey nodded again and Ian went to work, putting the kettle on.

"Since we're sharing today, how about you tell me a little something about your famous ex-boyfriend." Mickey said carefully and Ian froze.

"Not my favorite thing to talk about, but I guess it's only fair." He paused for the next few minutes and Mickey didn't rush him to start. He had done this kinda thing a lot in his job and knew better than to pressure Ian to tell him.

  
"Met him back in Chicago in a bar. He's a pretty successfull CEO, or something and we hooked up." He got out a knife and started chopping the garlic.

"Then hooked up again, spent more and more time together. We never talked about it, but we were pretty much exclusive at that point, I was living with him and we were together all the time. After a while we started trying different drugs, because he had met this dealer through work who was giving him all these samples and-" He paused and Mickey could see his hands shivering.

"Well, after a while we got into heroin. He didn't like it that much, but I did and from that moment on I was hooked." Mickey stood up and gently took the knife out of his trembling fingers, rubbing his back soothingly with the other hand.

"Relax, Ian. It's all good." The redhead took a few breaths to control himself but he didn't rush, enjoying the feel of Mickeys hands on his back.

"One day, he just didn't come home from work, but I needed the drug so I went and bought some from some guy on the street. Long story short, I accidentally overdosed, his cleaning lady found me and when I got out of the hospital, my brother sent me straight to rehab. I haven't heard from Clyde since. It was fucked up, but I loved him, you know?"

He looked into Mickeys eyes, searching for understanding. Mickey nodded silently, his gaze glued to Ians face.

 

It dawned on Mickey how fucking close they were. His hand was still on Ians back, resting there, sending shivers up his arm and as Ians head was coming closer, his heart started beating faster.

Their lips were only inches away from colliding, their eyes focussed on the other when the water on the stove overboiled, landing sibilantly on the hotplate, making them jump apart.

For a short moment, none of them did anything, then Mickey, rubbing his lips with his thumb, pointed to the stove and stated awkwardly:

"Water's overboiling." Ian nodded. He seemed out of breath and his freckled cheeks were flushed with embarassment.

"Yup. Seems that way."

 


	4. Birthday Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, here's chapter four. it's my birthday tomorrow so this worked out well :) I hope you enjoy this and thank you for your comments and kudos! I really appreciate them.

"24 hours are up," Mickey said as he flopped down on the couch next to Ian.

"Did you think about what we talked about?" The redhead exhaled extendedly to buy himself some more time, then turned his head to face his companion.

"Well, it's not like I have a joice in this." Mickey furrowed his brows and laid his vibrating phone next to him on the sofa.

"Of course you do."

  
He shook his head disapprovingly.

"Not really, though. You'll never let this go if I say no." A small grin spread on Mickeys face.

"You know me so well. That's settled then, yeah?"

 

Acknowledging his defeat, Ian nodded and turned his eyes back on the TV where he was watching some cooking show. He really had nothing to do all day so he had chosen cooking to be his pastime, a decision Mickey very much appreciated.

His creations weren't always edible, but still better than takeout everynight and the leftovers for breakfast.

"There's one condition, though." Ian pointed out, a sly grin on his face. The darkhaired man next to him sighed thorougly.

"Of course there is. Spit it out." The redhead turned around on the sofa, facing Mickey again.

"You can't be there." He gave his protege an incredulous look.

"And why's that?" Ian stayed silent for a while, then giggled sheepishly.

"I don't know. It's just weird." Mickey smiled at Ian's blushed cheeks and the childish look on his face.

 

"It's not weird, Gallagher. You've told me all of this already." Ian shook his head, blinking frequently, his pupils dilated.

"What's up with you this morning, anyways? Do I need to ask you for a drug test?" The redhead laughed playfully and shook his head.

"I've had like 5 cups of coffee because I wanted to try out those starbucks syrups that we bought the other day." Mickey pouted.

"What? Without me?" Ian's smile turned soft for a moment, until he shot up and ran towards the kitchen. He came back seconds later a trey with four cups in his hands.

"You were still in the shower. So these would have been waiting in the kitchen if you had gone there before complaining. They're all still hot." Mickey eyed the coffee mugs, until choosing one and taking a sip. Vanilla, definitely.

"Fine." He affirmed. "I'm not gonna be in there with you. I'll be waiting outside though, to make sure you're actually going!"

He wanted to say something else, but his phone buzzed again.

"Who's calling you every five minutes today?" Ian asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice. Mickey got up and grinned swankily. "I'm a popular man, Gallagher!"

 

 

A couple of hours later, Ian found himself in a cab on his way to yet another NA meeting. As promised, Mickey dismissed him at the door and sat down in the foyer, his phone in his hands. Ian hesitated before entering the meeting room.

  
"What's up with you and your phone? I didn't even know you had one before today, to be honest." Mickey didn't answer, just rolled his eyes and gestured him to leave him the fuck alone.

Gallagher had been doing well in the past three weeks he had been with him.

Off to a rocky start, things had smoothed over rapidly and they had been on good terms with each other ever since. They mostly just spent their time watching movies or TV shows and going to meetings.

When Ian made cooking experiments Mickey would sit on the kitchen table reading, or browsing the internet and every once in a while Ian would make him try the pasta sauce or something else and Mickey would say he thought it tasted great even though it really didn't and although neither of them would have ever admitted it, they both loved these little moments.

Mickey smiled at the memories and was thrown off when the phone in his hand vibrated again. He read through the text quickly and sighed.

Why the hell not?, he thought and typed a response.

 

* * *

  
"My name is Ian and I am a recovering addict."

Ian looked at all the people listening to what he didn't wanna share and took a deep breath before continuing. Just imagine them in their underwear, Mickey had proposed earlier with a half-smile in the taxi when he had noticed the redheads trembling fingers and nervous, heavy breathing.

Might as well, he thought, glad that Mickey wasn't in the room. Imagining him in his underwear, and without his undewear for that matter, would have been anything but productive. Distracting maybe, arousing, for sure, but not helpful to his current situation.

He looked at each individual face in the audience, most of their glances distant and incurious to what he had to say.

"I've been clean a little over six months now. Just got out of rehab. Uh, don't really know what to talk about." He looked to the meeting leader, seeking help and he nodded at him encouragingly.

"Congratulations, Ian. We're very proud of you. Six month is a long time. How's your family dealing with your addiction?" Ian sighed. How was his family dealing with his addiction?

"Um, my brother, who got me to go to rehab's been really great. Helping me out with everything. Even got me an apartment in town so I wouldn't have to go back to where I used to live. His wife doesn't seem to be very happy to see me, though."

The leader nodded understandingly.

"Why do you think that is?" Ian sighed. Mandy.

 

"Well, before I got addicted we were very, very close. I mean, we lived far apart but we would talk on the phone everyday and I flew out a lot to visit them. She's got two kids and I was very close to them, too. I think she's angry that she didn't hear from me for almost an entire year."

He looked down on the speaker's desk and rubbed his nose uncomfortably.

"She hasn't got any siblings, so I think I was like a brother for her. And then I just disappeared out of her life because I was too wrapped up in my own shit. Now, I don't really know how to make up for all the trouble I've caused her."

He had been trying to avoid thinking about the matter too much because of the compunction that came crashing down on him everytime he thought about it too much, and this time it was no different.

He remember faintly wanting to answer Mandys many calls, but at that point he had been out of touch for so long that he would have had to come up with an explanation and that was something Ian couldn't do at the time.

 

"How do you explain to someone that you couldn't call or text back because all you care about is drugs and your unhealthy relationship?"

He looked around the room, seeing agreeing nods and warm smiles and he relaxed at the sight. Meeting people who not only understood his problems, but probably had been through the same shit before, made Ian feel a relief he didn't think was possible.

In the end, he was happy he agreed to speak at the meeting and he planned on doing it again sometime. But he would have rather swallowed his tongue than admit that to his companion.

Mickey got up from his seat and walked towards him when he saw him coming out of the meeting room.

"So? How was it?" Ian slapped him on the arm. He didn't know when their greetings had developed into slaps and punches but at some point over the last few weeks, they had.

"Shitty, just like I thought it would be." Mickey scoffed doubtfully and hailed a cab.

"Oh yeah? Why don't I believe you?"

Ian grinned and rolled his eyes at him as he climbed into the taxi.

 

 

"I talked about Mandy", Ian almost whispered when they sat side by side watching the scenery fly by. Mickey didn't respond. He had learned by now, that if you just waited a little while, Ian would start talking at his own time.

"About how I don't know how to get her to forgive me." He looked up and searched Mickeys face. The darkhaired man shrugged.

"So let's tackle that whole situation tomorrow, okay? You've already done a big thing today, speaking in front of those people." He hesitated, then quickly laid his hand on Ians, squeezing softly, before retracting it and staring out of the window.

"Proud of you!"

Ian blushed and eyed his hand, still feeling Mickeys electrifying touch.

"Thanks", he beamed and smiled out the window. Mickey wasn't too big on compliments but everytime he paid Ian one, it felt like christmas.

 

* * *

  
"Gallagher?" Mickey walked out of his room looking for his redheaded flatmate and found him spread out on the sofa with his head hanging onto the floor.

" _What the hell are you doing?_ " Ian jumped up and sat up straight, caught in the act.

"Uh.. honestly, I dropped my Ferrero Rocher to the floor and I was checking if it had rolled underneath the couch." Mickey laughed and bit his lip.

"We have Rochers? Did you eat them all or can I have one?" Ian's face went from pale to fiery red in seconds, as Mickey busted his lie.

He stayed silent for a little while, looking anywhere but Mickeys amused face.

"I was watching this documentary about bats and they said they sleep with their head upside down." He looked at his hands sheepishly, his face turning a darker shade of red with every word he spoke. Mickey nodded.

  
"You wanted to experience what that's like?", he asked drily. Ian nodded.

"Yup. Now, laugh it off and let's never talk about this again. Ever." Mickey giggled and put his hands in his pockets. He didn't seem like his usual cool self as well.

  
Now that Ian finally managed to lift his head and look at Mickey, he saw why.

  
His companion was freshly showered, his normally unkempt hair, slicked back with what seemed like a ton of hair gel. He had switched his usual baggy sweatpants for dark slimfitting jeans and instead of dirty tanktops we was wearing a faintly striped black dress shirt. It looked like he had tried to clean his black boots and the smell of a very fine cologne filled the air in the living room.

Ian whistled appreciatively. "Jesus, Mickey. Where are you going in that outfit?" Mickey flipped him off and looked on the floor embarassedly. "Fuck off. I'm just going to get a drink with someone." Ian smirked.

"Oh really? And who might that someone be?"

Although loving this new look his companion had going on, he couldn't help but wonder who he would get this dressed up for and where he was going. Mickey shrugged.

"Just an old friend." Ian eyed him suspiciously.

That wasn't an explanation and something in Mickeys almost guilty expression told him to keep digging.

  
"Come on, tell me. Who are you going out with?" He tried to hold up his fassade of just asking out of curiosity but he wasn't sure if Mickey bought it.

 

Mickey tried feaverishly to navigate around spilling who had asked him to dinner when his phone buzzed. He cursed himself for leaving it lying around on the living room table as both him and Ian jumped forward to try and reach it.

"That's why you've been texting all day." Ian panted as he wrestled Mickey for the electronic device.

He was sitting on the darkhaired mans chest, his arms locked underneath the weight of his legs and he grabbed the smartphone out of his hands while he was screaming profanities at the redhead.

Ian laughed and unlocked the phone, curiously awaiting the reveal of Mickeys lover.

When he saw who the text was from, his face froze and he stood back up, leaving Mickey lying on the floor.

"You must be joking!" Jumping to his feet, Mickey yanked the phone out of Ians hands.

 

 

"What the fuck, Gallagher?", he hissed as he straightened out his now crumpled clothes.

"You're going out with Nick?" Mickey shrugged, avoiding Ians questioning gazes.

"Cheated on you with two guys-Nick? You wanted him dead before today. What the fuck, Mick?" The companion cursed himself for having told Ian what happened with his ex-boyfriend.

"It's none of your fucking business, Gallagher. Stay out of this. I'm leaving now. Send me a text every hour and don't forget, I'll be testing you when I get back."

 

Ian shook his head in disbelief. He hadn't taken Mickey for the kind of guy that would come crawling back to his ex.

He couldn't let that happen, he thought determined to hinder Mickey from going. He grabbed his arm as the older man tried to leave the room, but he was shrugged of easily.

"Don't touch me again", Mickey ordered, a cold tone to his voice that Ian hadn't heard from him before.

Convinced that his motives were noble, acting because of worry rather than pure jealousy, Ian turned to his last resort.

"I'm thinking about using. I might be going out to buy something tonight." Crossing a line had never felt worse and Ian could see the shift in Mickeys face when he turned around.

"You know very well, legally I'm not allowed to leave your side if you talk about using. So what did you just say?" His features were frozen, his face giving away no clue to what was going on behind his blue eyes.

Ian withstood Mickeys gaze and crossed his arms before his chest.

  
"I said I'm thinking about using."

 

 

Mickey looked like he was going to punch him for one moment, but then he just shrugged off his jacket and flopped down on the couch.

"Great. Thanks." And Ian just stood there not knowing what to do or say, while in his mind he was still trying to convince himself that he had done the right thing, disproof sitting in front of him, looking disappointedly at his tattooed knuckles.

Ian didn't know how to behave, now that he had made Mickey stay in for the night, so he turned around to head to the kitchen. Mickeys voice stopped him.

"It's my birthday, you know?" Ian felt the weight of his words crushing down on him, every syllable like a dagger in his back.

"What?", he asked weakly, unable to face his companion. "You heard me. Just wanted to have a night out on my birthday." Ian heard Mickey stand up and walk towards his room, the click of his closing door echoing through the apartment.

 

  
Back in his room, Mickey was torn. On the one hand he was almost relieved that he didn't have to see Nick tonight. Knowing it would have ended with a hookup and so much self loathing the morning after. He had only chosen to give in into Nicks begging for a dinner together due to lack of other friends or family and seeing him wouldn't have been a good idea in the long run, on the other hand Ian Gallagher had no right to march into his life and make decisions for him.

Still he couldn't help but feel a tad of admiration for the redhead for his quick thinking and smart way of keeping him from leaving. He knew him well enough to know that he wasn't close to relapsing but it was an effective way for keeping him home that night.

So, no celebration on his 25th birthday, he thought as he laid down on his bed, settling down for a nap. Before he drifted off to sleep, he remembered to send Nick a message, cancelling their plans.  
The question that seemed to kept him up was whether Ian Gallagher was just really against meeting ex-partners, or if he was jealous that he was gonna meet another guy.

* * *

  
He was awoken by a gentle knock on his door two hours later, yanking him out of a nightmare he was having. He got up stretching himself to shake off the sleep before quickly wiping sleeping drool off his face.

"Mickey? Are you awake?" Ians voice was silent, shy almost and so soft Mickey felt the last rest of anger towards him slip away. He opened the door and looked into sad, green puppy eyes, sorrow written all over the freckled face looking at him.

"Let me guess", Mickey spoke, unable to be unfriendly while melting away by the sight of Ian.

"You're thinking of using again?" Somehow, Ians face got even more sad at Mickeys lame attempt to make the situation less awkward and he felt bad immediately after speaking.

"Listen", the redhead began, taking a deep breath to gain some confidence for his apology. "I'm sorry for what I said. Had I known it was your birthday I wouldn't have, you know, said all that. But he just doesn't seem like somebody you should-" Mickey cut him off with a shake of his head.

"It's alright. Shouldn't have agreed to meeting him anyways." Ian exhaled at his words.

"Still, not your call to make that decision.", Mickey added and Ian nodded guiltily.

"I know. I'm really, really sorry."

 

There they were again, big, green eyes full of sorrow and guilt. How was he suppossed to be pissed off when he couldn't even form a coherent thought when looking at that face.

"Wanna see my I'm-sorry-I-fucked-up-surprise?" Mickey chuckled and switched off the light in his room.

"Sure, got nothing better to do anyways." Ian smiled happily and started walking towards the living room but Mickey held him back.

"There's one problem. I've got to bring my protege because he's really close to relapsing, so I can't really leave his sight, you know?"

He giggled when Ian rolled his eyes and pulled him by his sleeve into the living room.

 

 

Mickey almost didn't recognize the room. The Couch had been pushed to the wall, the small side table was gone and where it used to be was the big dinner table from the kitchen.

"The fireplace is burning. How the fuck did you figure that out?" They'd spent quite a couple of frustrating hours trying to get it to start. It was one of those electric ones that you couldn't just throw some paper in and light it, like in the good old days.

Ian shrugged.

"Honestly, I just read the instructions online." They shared a look, silently agreeing on never telling anyone that they hadn't thought of that the first few hundred times they'd tried to light the fireplace, then Ian motioned towards the table and ordered Mickey to sit down.

 

He disappeared into the kitchen and as Mickey watched him leave, with a little hop in his walk, he noticed, that Ian himself had changed out of his usual uniform of sweatpants and some shirt. He was wearing light skinny jeans and a dark green dressshirt, tugged into his pants, making it very easy to get caught up in looking at his butt, which Mickey did shamelessly.

 

Ian grabbed the two plates he had prepared before going to get his companion from his room and placed one in front of him when he returned.

Mickey smiled at him and carefully inspected what Ian had presented him with. Thankfully, it was just a salad, covered with what looked like yoghurt dressing.

They sat down opposite to each other and Ian poured Pepsi into the wineglass in front of Mickey.

He smiled apologetically and shrugged.

 

 

"Sorry, there wasn't any wine in the house. Not a big drinker, myself." He giggled and Mickey joined in.

"No worries. Me neither." They clinked their glasses together and said cheers.

"Happy Birthday!", Ian cheered.

 

Mickey nodded and took a drink from his pepsi. When he put his glass back on the table, he gargled and continued to make weird noises with the liquid still in his mouth.

"Kind of buttery with a hint of oak in the aftertaste", he grinned after he had swallowed. Ian looked at him as if he had just grown another head, until he understood what the companion was doing.

"Oh, quite the connoisseur", he laughed and Mickey nodded approvingly.

"Sure am."

  
Ian took another sip from his drink and nodded agreeingly.

"Great vintage year."

After a short winetasting, they dug into the salad Ian had made. Unfortunately, the yoghurt dressing turned out to be mayonaise, a recipe Ian had found on the internet.

It tasted horrible, but Mickey kept a straight face and nodded excitedly when trying the food.

 

Ian went to get the main course soon after and Mickey prayed for something simple that wasn't from a Minnesota cooking website.

He wasn't a man of god, but if he had to smile through another one of Ians cooking attempts, he would need some support from the man upstairs.

Thankfully, Ian came back with homemade pizza, which looked delicious and smelled even better.

 

"So", Ian began when he sat down,

"I know that salad was a tad experimental, but this should be better!" Mickey shook his head vehemently.

"No, the salad was great. I loved it!" Ian smiled softly and began cutting the pizza.

"Thank you for lying."

  
He put a slice on Mickeys plate and they started eating.

Much to Mickey's relief, it tasted great.

 

All in all, the evening had been great so far. The dimmed light in the living room and the fireplace burning generated a celebratory atmosphere and Ian, who was trying very hard to make up for his behavior earlier was chipper and eager to please. Mickey was sure his birthday celebration was already better than what he would have had with Nick.

 

"So, Jason Momoa, huh?" Ian asked when they were sitting back in their chairs, an inch away from a food coma. Mickey snorted.

"Definitely." Ian looked at him curiously, the flickering light from the fireplace painting his face in all kinds of reds and yellows.

"That what you're into? Seven feet tall and a ponytail?" He was trying to sound careless, as if he wasn't really interested in the answer, but he wasn't sure if his question came across that way. Mickey laughed.

"Have you seen that fucking ponytail? That's a powerful ponytail, man." The redhead chuckled but stayed silent.

 

Mickey surveyed his face, his eyes dark and mysterious.

"What about you?" Ian smirked.

"Other than Petyr? Jon Snow, obviously." The companion frowned.

"That bitch? Really?" The redhead nodded.

"What? You don't like grumpy, brooding brunets?" Mickey shook his head.

"Not really."

 

Ian got up and started to clear the table.

"Well, I definitely do." He had a feeling that Ian wasn't referring to Jon Snow anymore, but that could have just been in his imagination.

Ian stopped his companion when he tried to get up and help.

"It's your birthday, you're not allowed to lift a finger." Mickey scoffed. He wasn't used to being served. Usually with his clients, it was the other way around. Then again, Ian was no usual client.

 

While Ian was washing the dishes in the kitchen, Mickey rearranged the furniture so the sofa was back where it belonged, then he joined his protege.

Ian was standing in front of the sink, his hands elbow deep in the foamy water, whistling some song through his teeth. Mickey laughed and leaned his back against the counter next to him.

"Do people really do that?", he asked. Ian looked at him incredulously, his hands scrubbing a wineglass.

"Do what?" Mickey put his hands in his pockets and bit his lower lip.

"Whistling songs, throwing together last minute birthday parties, it's like you're a movie character." Ian put the wineglass onto the drip grid.

"Me?", he scoffed, turning his head towards Mickey.

"You are literally Jon Snow. Don't even fight me on this." The other man laughed heartily.

"I'm no bastard. I don't even know my parents." Ian let the plate in his hands sink into the hot water and gave him a frowned look.

"Way to ruin the mood, Milkovich." Mickey shrugged.

  
"Anyways, I'm more of a Ramsay Bolton, if you ask me." The redhead didn't seem to agree.

"Why? You like neutering people?" The dark-haired man shook his head. "Naw, I find dicks way more useful when they're attached to a dude. I would keep that dick where it belongs."

Ian burst out laughing.

"I bet you would." They looked at each other, a weird energy between them, until Mickey looked away, crossing his arms before his chest.

 

"Anyways. Thanks for the birthday party. I had fun." Ian nodded and shot him a smile.

"Sorry I didn't get you a present." Mickey weighed his answer in his head, knowing he was playing with fire.

"I bet you'll think of something." He slid across the counter until he was inches away from Ian who looked at him, with wide eyes, unable to shake the feeling that he was having a deja vu.

"I could order you something with that overnight express thingy then it would be here tomorrow", he mumbled as he pulled his arms away so Mickey could slide in front of him.

The older man nodded agreeingly.

 

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea." Ian placed his hands left and right from Mickeys torso and took a step closer.

"Or I could go out and get something from one of those 24 hour stores. You can pick out whatever you like." Mickey hummed contently as Ian leaned in closer. He let his hands slide over the redheads freckled arms, making the tiny hairs stand up.

"Very generous of you."

 

Their faces were so close now, Ian could feel the older mans breaths tickling his upper lip as he spoke.

"Or, I'll just order you that new season of Game Of Thrones. Seems like something you would like." His voice was nothing more than a whisper at that point, his eyes glued to Mickeys lips, drunk from the scent of his cologne and the other boy nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Ian closed it with his own, kissing him passionately.

Mickeys hands shot up, one cupping his face, the other one buried in strands of red hair. He sighed into their kiss when Ian came even closer, pressing his body against his, grinding against his crotch.

  
"I'm liking this present the best", Mickey panted, his voice thick with desire.

The redhead in his arms grinned, trailing his lips with his finger until connecting their lips again. It was also the best gift he'd ever given.

 


	5. Bedtime Stories

Mickey felt everything.

Ians lips on his own, exploring his mouth carefully. His hands, hot on his own pale skin, dipping underneath his shirt, leaving goosebumps and warmth everywhere, making Mickey sigh at the prickling sensation.

Ians body was pressed against him, leaving little room to breathe or move, not that he would have wanted to. The redhead was tracing his jawline with bites and kisses, locking his arms around his hips, motioning them towards the door.

"Bedroom!", Ian growled, almost dangerously, all the softness and infantility washed from his face. Mickey chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Your place or mine?"

As an answer, Ian abruptly picked him up, threw him over his shoulder and jogged to his own room.

Mickey fought back with everything he had but the redhead had his arms locked tightly around his waist as he moved through the living room.

 

Once Mickeys feet touched the ground again, after cursing at Ian colorfully, he grabbed his protege by the collar of his shirt and pushed him against the wall. "You do that again, I'll cut your fucking dick off!"  
Ian rolled his eyes and spared no time, pulling him close and turning them around, so Mickey was pressed against the wall, his hands on the redheads shirt, yanking it off hastily.

Ian raised his arms, helping Mickey pull his shirt off, then watched as the darkhaired man got rid off his own. He purred in admiration as he let his hand stroke over the defined muscles on his stomach, and suddenly, Mickey was glad for all the runs Ian had forced him to go on throughout the last few weeks.

They started kissing again, quick and hastily, and Mickey pushed Ian onto the bed, sitting on top of him, a smug smile on his face as he looked at Ians startled expression, feeling his erection underneath him.  
Mickey leaned down and nibbled on the skin on Ians collarbone, working his way down to his abs.

"Did they inject you Super Soldier Serum or something? Jesus."

Mickey mumbled, more to himself than to Ian who was lying on the bed, eyes closed, his lips between his teeth, smiling contently.

Mickey moved on to lower regions and started unbuckling Ians belt. He slapped him on the stomach impatiently, waiting for him to lift his hips so he could take his pants off. The redhead gasped at the unexpected pain and moved quickly when he grasped what Mickey was waiting for.

Once his pants and briefs were somewhere behind them on the floor and Mickeys eyes were glued to Ians crotch, the redhead suddenly became aware of his own bareness, while his companion was still wearing everything but his shirt. When Mickey looked up at him, his worry faded away quickly.

There was a big grin on his face and a childish spark in his eyes that drove Ian insane.

"I'm gonna have to send your parents a thank you card or something. They did good work." He glanced back down and nodded reinforcingly.

"I mean, damn, Gallagher!"

Ian giggled bashfully as Mickey lowered his head. He closed his eyes in anticipation, ready for the feeling of Mickeys lips around him, but nothing happened.

He heard a silent whimper and shot to a seating position, looking at Mickey who was suddenly even paler than normal, his lips colorless and his eyes wide and glazed.

There was a moment of silence, when they both just looked at each other in incomprehension, then Mickey was gone, racing to the bathroom where he ungracefully emptied his stomach into the toilet.  
Ian appeared in the door soon after, back in his briefs a worried look on his pale face.

"Mickey, you okay? Feeling sick or something?" Mickey, who was hovered over the bowl, winced weakly, but managed to lift his head to shot Ian an annoyed glare.

"Fan- fucking- tastic."

The redhead ran to the kitchen, returning moments after with a glass of water in his hands. He sat down next to Mickey, putting the drink to his lips, rubbing his back soothingly, when he leaned back down to hurl again.

The weird thing was, Mickey didn't feel too bad. His head was throbbing, his skin felt itchy and too small for his body and his stomach was rebelling vehemently, forcing its content out of his body, but it almost felt worth it, with Ian next to him, his hands on his back, running his fingers through his hair.

"Shit", the redhead mumbled, as he wiped his hand on a towel hanging nearby.

"You use too much gel, Mick." The darkhaired man sighed, that being the least of his problems at the moment, as he forced himself to sit up on the rim of the tub, flushing down the contents of his stomach.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." Mickey wasn't sure if his stomach was done rebelling, so they settled on taking a bucket to Ian's bedroom, placing it next to the bed, near enough for the sick companion to reach down and use it at any time.

 

Mickey let himself fall onto the soft matrass, sinking into the pillow as Ian spread out the duvet on top of him, sitting by his side. He covered his sweaty forehead with one of his hands and shook his head in worry.

"Shit, Mick. You're really hot." Mickey nodded weakly, his eyes on Ians face, drinking in the worry and concern showing. He wasn't sure if anyone had ever looked at him this way before.

"Gallagher", he whispered. "this is not the time to flirt."

Ian huffed out a laugh and gently stroked the sweat off his companions face.

"That's not what I meant, dumbass. I think you have a feaver. Now try to sleep, for a while, okay? I'll make you some tea."

Mickey nodded tiredly and send a prayer to the gods that Ian was using normal tea and not some recipe from the internet.

* * *

 

He was awoken by the lovely sound of Ian throwing up in the bathroom. He heard Ian wince as he let out a bunch of extraordinary curses that made Mickey pause with admiration and envy.

The redhead appeared in the door 15 minutes later, holding on to a bucket of his own, his eyes teary from the exertion, face pale with frantic red stress dots everywhere.

"I'm gonna take a wild stab here", Mickey began as he held up the blanket for Ian to join him. "and say something was wrong with the pizza you made."

Ian glared at him and buried his head on his chest. "I don't know, Mick. I don't think I did anything wrong, to be honest."

His whole body was shivering and Mickey put his arms around him, in an attempt to warm him.

"There was ground meat on there. Where'd you get that?" He felt Ian shrug and knew that wasn't a good sign.

"I ground it up myself on my farm. Where the fuck do you think I got it? The fucking fridge, of course."

Mickey sighed unhappily.

"Just tell me it wasn't the one I bought a week ago." Ian lifted his head and sheepishly looked up to the older man.

"Shit, Ian. Don't give me those puppy eyes." He tried looking away from the wide green saucers staring at him, but he was powerless. It was Ians most powerful weapon.

"There's nothing we can do about it now, anyway. Let's just try and sleep it off."

 

Except they didn't sleep. They were at that point, sick enough to feel like absolute shit, but not tired enough to dive right back to sleep. Instead, they listened to each others breathing, holding each other close, covered in sweat and sickness. Ian felt worse than Mickey did, his food poisoning overshadowed by the guilt and disappointment. He couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened, shit, what surely would have happened, if he only was a good cook, that knew better than to use a weeks old meat.

Ian sighed and scooted even closer to Mickey who was running his fingers over his back soothingly, his gaze unfocussed, seeming far away.

He pressed a kiss in the crook of Mickeys neck, trying to get his attention. The older man looked down at him, a sad, unfamiliar smile on his face. Looking at him like he had never seen him before.

"You remind me so much of him, sometimes", he whispered, not meeting his eyes.

"Of who?", Ian asked, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Mickey. The darkhaired man sighed and pulled him close again.

He was sure it would be easier to talk about this once he didn't have to face Ian.

  
"You asked me why I became a sober companion a while back, remember?"

He felt Ian nod and he was thankful he wasn't babbling like he tended to when he was uncomfortable.

"My brother, Iggy. He was a lot like you. Not in public of course, but back home, in the mornings, when nobody was drunk yet and our dad asleep, he would run around with so much energy, cracking jokes and everything." Mickey sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn't talked about Iggy in a long time.

Ian didn't dare to say anything, or move, scared that it would throw his companion off, so he just laid there, wishing he could wipe that painful tone out of Mickeys voice.

"Crystal Meth. He got pretty hooked on the stuff, because my father was selling it, so it was always around in our house. And I noticed way too late."

He paused, not sure if he would be able to spit out the next few words. Ians reassuring lips, resting on his neck did the trick.

"I found him in his room once. He was completely out of it, talking about how aliens were gonna come and get him and that the government was after him. Fucking paranoid. Then there were days where he wouldn't get out of bed at all after staying up without sleep for days. Meth fucking wrecks you, you know? And I didn't have a clue how to help him."

 

He paused for a while, dying for a cigarette or anything else to calm him down, to hold on to to stop his hands from trembling against Ians freckled skin.

"He was driving to a run somewhere with my dad and they got pulled over so Iggy swallowed an 8ball. It opened in his stomach and he had a stroke and died because Terry didn't want to bring him into the ER. He didn't wanna get any attention from the police because of the masses of Meth he was stocking at home. Fucking asshole. He was already dead when they got home. So I punched my dad unconscious, packed my things and got the fuck out of there. Then I got this job, because I know a lot of shit about this kind of stuff, except, you know, what to do to help somebody get out of that doom loop. It's normal where I come from. There's junkies like sand on the beach."

He inhaled deeply, whimpering almost unhearable at the memories that were being washed up in his hand.

There's only so much ignoring could do for you and he had reached the point where blocking the whole thing out wasn't working anymore. Ian on his chest was silent and Mickey was starting to think he'd fallen asleep but he gripped Mickey by his waist and easily pulled him on top of him.

He looked into Mickeys face, suddenly soft and vulnerable, seeming years older with all the pain in his eyes and every line on his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mick. Were you two very close?" Mickey huffed, looking away from green eyes.

"As close as a Milkovich can be to the other. Out of the whole bunch I'd say I got along with him the best."

Ian nodded, a small smile on his face and Mickey joined in.

  
"He used to have this coin, you know. Found it somewhere on a run in some rich dudes vitrine and he was convinced it was this very rare coin from eighteenhundred-something. He was so proud, talking about how he finally had found his way out of poverty and all that shit and that he would buy a house for every Milkovich kid."

He laughed at the memory.

"Just stupid dreams. A couple of weeks later we went to an antique shop and had them estimate what it was worth. Turns out it was a copy and they were only willing to pay like 50 bucks for it, so that didn't work out." Ian nodded, hanging on Mickeys every word. He had never seen him so sad, but the love for his brother was obvious, written on his face with every little smile.

"I thought he'd tossed it, but I found it in his wallet after he died. Guess he kept it to remind him of his dream to become rich and famous. I took it with me. It's the only thing I have left of him, as cliché as that might sound!" Ian didn't know what to say, how to console a pain he couldn't even begin to understand, so he cupped Mickeys face with his hands and placed a gentle, long kiss on his lips.

Mickey smiled, and as quickly as it had appeared, the vulnerability and sadness were washed away.

"Thank you for telling me!" Ian whispered between two kisses. It took a few moments for Mickey to pull away.

"Not to ruin the moment or anything, but you taste like vomit." Ian rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh, settling his head back into his pillow.

"Sorry."

Pulling the blanket back ontop of him, Mickey rolled off the redhead and snuggled in by his side.

  
They drifted off to sleep soon after, exhausted from the day, their feaver hammering in their heads, draining all the energy out of their bodies. In and out of sleep they shared looks every now and then, lying as close together as they could, until a cheeky smile formed on Ians lips.

"For the record, I would have rocked your world tonight."

Mickey let out a weak laugh, regretting it instantly as he felt a sharp pain in his stomach.

"I'm sure." Ian rolled around to face him and stared at him emphatically.

"I'm serious. I'm really good at sex." The darkhaired man reached out a hand and stroked Ians face gently, his skin hot and sweaty underneath his shaky fingers.

"I'm serious, too. You look like a great fuck." Ian huffed out a laugh and let his head sink back into the cushions.

"You're such a romantic. But like, I've got all the moves and everything. My BJ is incomparable."

His eyes were glowing mischieviously as he tried his hardest to get Mickey to laugh. At this point he would have done anything to get that little smile from Mickey that started off by just a smirk and ended it an full blown, bright-like-the-sun-smile.

His efforts were rewarded as Mickey shook his head and beamed.

"You're stupid."

 

* * *

 

The next time Ian woke up, the alarm clock on his nightstand read 3:50 am and he sighed tiredly, as his hurting stomach kept him from sleeping. He shuffled around for a while until he noticed Mickey was awake, too, looking at him with a brooding look on his face. He was looking much better already. There was color in his cheeks again and he wasn't shivering anymore. Ian moved over and pecked the older man on the lips. He let it happen but he didn't kiss back. Ian frowned, but decided to leave it at that. Maybe Mickey was just tired.

 

"Sorry my cooking ruined everything." Ian mumbled, burying his head in the crook of Mickeys neck. The companion sighed, his face turning a shade of cold Ian did not like one bit.

"Look, man. I'm kinda glad it did. I've already let this go too far." Ian lifted his head, an alarmed look on his face.

"What do you mean?" Mickey avoided his eyes when he spoke.

"What I mean is that I'm your sponsor. I'm suppossed to help my clients, not hook up with them. It's unprofessional and I could loose my job over this." Ians face fell as he scooted away from Mickey.

"No, what are you talking about? Don't ruin this."

  
Mickey felt his heart ache as he shook his head and ducked away from Ians hand on his arm, when all he wanted to do was lean over and kiss the frown off the redheads face. But he had to stay cold.

  
"What's there to ruin? I want you to get better, Ian. I think you need some time by yourself to get over Clyde, don't you?" He knew that he had said the wrong thing, right as the words left his mouth. Ians face became cold, almost emotionless, as he turned around.

"Don't act like you know anything about Clyde." Then the room fell silent.

He could faintly remember a phone vibrating somewhere in the room before he fell asleep, the next time Mickey woke up, Ian was gone. The light of the oncoming sun shone bright on his face and it felt like ridicule.

 

In a moment of panick, Mickey jumped up, weak on his feet, feeling the aftermath of the food poisoning in every inch of his body. He left Ians room, looking for him in the bathroom and his own room until he entered the living room, sighing in relief.

Ian was sitting on the sofa, fully clothed. He hadn't forgotten about the last conversation they'd had. Hadn't forgotten how he had watched Ian sleep for hours realizing he was in too deep for this to just be a profesional relationship.

He didn't like the decision he had made then and there, knowing it would damage what they had. Still, he was too much of a coward to face the consequences of his decision, so he went with a casual approach, failing miserably.

 

"Mornin', is there coffee? My head's killing me." Ian shook his head, tying his shoelaces.

"Were you serious, Mick? What you said before? You wanna end this before it has even started?" Mickey sighed, as he sat down next to Ian, leaving a considerable amount of room between them, hoping Ian wouldn't notice.

He did, though and scoffed, huffing out a sad laugh.

"What? You spent the night in bed with me and now we can't even touch?"

Mickey kept silent. What was there to say? He had taken it too far and, in a weak moment, had pushed the boundaries that he had established between him and his client.

There was no point in wishing to go back to the night before. How easy it would have been not to get lost in Ian Gallaghers green eyes.

To walk away instead of melting into his every touch. But he hadn't been able to resist, so now he had to pay the price.

And that hurt. More than he would have imagined it would. He could feel Ians disappointed gaze burning into the side of his head, as he forced himself to keep his eyes forward, not to look into the eyes and loose all the willingness to do the right thing.

"Fucking fine, then." Ian huffed as he got up and pulled on a jacket.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air. I'll text you every hour, so you'll know where I am. Don't worry, I won't risk you losing your precious job."

He stormed off and Mickey buried his face in his hands.

  
To him, Ian suddenly felt a lot like a drug. Feeling wonderful and heady under the influence, but empty and hollow once the effects had worn off.

And maybe that's what he was. His own personal drug.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. It's not as happy and light as the other ones, I know, but I still hope you enjoyed reading!


	6. And Lead Us Not Into Temptation

  
_"I don't know, Clyde. That's some heavy shit", Ian said holding the little plastic bag in his hands. The old man laughed and stretched out on the hotel bed._

_"I know, kiddo. I'm not saying you have to do it, it's just what Tom gave me this time. Top notch stuff, he said."_

_I_ _an joined him on the bed and rested his head on his stomach. It looked okay, he thought. Sort of like the baby powder Fiona used for his brother Liam, only this was brown and if he had heard it correctly in biology class, a whole lot more dangerous than baby powder._

_Clyde ran his hand through Ian's red hair and snatched the bag out of his hand, opening it carefully._

_"I'll try it. Suppossed to be a better feeling than everything else we've tried." He raised the open package to his nose and sniffed it._

_"Doesn't smell like anything really." He sat up and got the small mirror out of the bedside table, emptying the bag over it._

_He got a bank card out of his wallet and started dividing the stuff into two equally big lines._

_He rolled a hundred dollar billd experiencedly and without further ado snorted the powder. Ian sat up and watched him carefully, crawling towards the mirror on the bedside table and eyeing the heroin._

_"How does it feel?", he asked, watching Clyde as he leaned against the backrest of the bed, eyes blissfully closed._

_"Can't say yet. Just try it! . It's your first time, you won't get addicted after trying it once._

_Just a tiny bit won't hurt you."_

* * *

 

  
The first few hours the texts came regularly. There was no emotion or anything else attached, but Ian wrote him a message every hour with his location and affirmation that he was doing fine.

Mickey was left in the apartment, afraid to walk anywhere that would bring up memories from the night before. It was the afternoon now and Ian was still gone. He was starting to worry, having already passed the maximum time they were allowed to spend apart, but he figured he owed it to Ian to leave him alone for a little while, after the way he had behaved the night before.

Looking for something to eat, Mickey walked to the kitchen. The dirty dishwater was still in the sink, the rest of the questionable mayonaise salad was still on the counter, and the sour feeling in Mickeys stomach was still the same. Only now it didn't come from old meat but from the bitter feeling that he had once again majorly fucked up. Both professionally and personally.

Caught between trying to be a good sober companion and a good human being, he decided to overcome his pride and call Ian to see if he really was okay. It was his job to know after all.  
It took a few rings for the redhead to pick up. He didn't say anything, just breathed, the noise of the New York traffic in the background.

  
"You okay?" Mickey asked, nervously biting his nails. Ian on the other side of the line just huffed.

"Of course that's why you called." He was close to hanging up right there, but blowing Mickey off without an answer would only lead to further problems that Ian wasn't ready for at this point.

"What do you mean?" The redhead shook his head and kicked against the dead tree to his feet.

"Don't play dumb with me, Mickey. You know exactly what I mean."

  
How he'd hoped for the darkhaired man to call and take back all the stupid things he'd said the night before, crushing this heady happiness that felt so close to the rush a nose of heroin could bring you, and yet so different.

Just like the Brown Sugar, Mickey left Ian wanting more and more, as soon as possible. He left the same aching in his bones and the pounding in his head, demanding more of pale skin, dark hair and gentle touches that didn't match the harsh looks of the man at all. There was a silence, both men too proud or stubborn to be the next one to talk, in the end, Mickey swallowed hard and spoke.

"But you're okay? Not buying something?" Ian nodded until he realized that his companion couldn't see him through the phone.

"Sure", he harrumphed and hung up.

He put his phone back into his pocket and continued walking down the street, away from the city, to the only place he knew he would feel somewhat okay. The only place he could breathe freely, without the smog of the City air clogging up his lunges.

The phone in his pocket felt like it was going to burn a hole through his pocket. That text message he had gotten and read a hundred times weighing him down, pulling him back into a time that he didn't want to remember.

Then again, what else did he have here? He was in New York with a brother who knew about every little fuck up there had been in the past, who lately behaved more like a father than a brother. A best friend, that was so hurt she barely talked to him at all and a nephew and a niece that barely remembered anything about him.

Now the only thing that had lifted his mood, a possible new, healthier relationship was gone too.

Mickey hadn't so much closed that door, as he had slammed it shut right in front of his face, while literally still in bed with him.

The only way he could go now, it seemed, was backwards.

 

* * *

 

 

An hour after their phone call, Mickey was still sat on the couch, his phone in his hand, thinking about how he could possibly fix this mess of a situation, when the door bell rang and made him jump out of his head and towards the door.

 

"Hey." Mandy greeted, unnervedly, a kid on every arm pulling and screaming at her.

"We were in the neighborhood for dance lessons, but Leah decided she couldn't wait until we're home to go to the bathroom. So?"

She looked at Mickey expectandly while he was standing in the doorway, trying to focuss on Mandy's words, while children screams fogged up his mind.

  
"Ugh, sure. Come in!" He jumped out of the way and let the three Gallaghers into the apartment.

He lead the way to the bathroom and Mandy pushed her son into Mickey's arms before closing the door behind them.

"Noah, right?" Mickey asked while he stared disconcertingly into the boys big, round eyes. As an answer, he smacked his hand into his face.

He yelped in pain and surprise at the strength of a one year old, when Mandy yelled at him.

"Are you waiting by the door? Because that's kinda weird." As silently as possible, Mickey tiptoed away and answered when he was in the living room.

"Absolutely not. We're in the living room."

He rubbed his hurting nose and sat down on the couch, the toddler on his lap, not really knowing what to do or talk about with a baby. He wasn't even sure he'd ever held one before today. A couple of minutes later Mandy and Leah returned. She laughed at the sight of how uncomfortably Mickey held the baby.

"You don't have to hold his head up, you know? He's not a newborn."

Mickey let go of Noahs little head and frowned, sure that he'd heard somewhere that you were suppossed to support baby heads. Mandy grabbed him out of his lap and Leah jumped onto him instantly, kneeing him in the balls.

"Will you tell your children to stop attacking me, please?" Mickey squealed out when he had found enough breath to talk. The pain was unbearable, pulsating through his crotch area up to his stomach and into his legs, the little girl not even noticing what her jumping on her uncles friend had caused.

"Where's Ian?" Mandy asked as she sat down next to him, wiping away the tears that had been running down her cheeks from laughing at Mickeys pain.

He didn't meet her eyes when she shrugged.

"Out. He said he wanted to go for a walk or something." He had tried to sound believable, but Mandy seemed to be able to see right through him.

"Why? Did something happen?" Mickey shook his head vehemently but kept his head down and his eyes locked on Leah, who was tying one of her bracelets around his wrist.

He heard a long sigh from Mandy, then the disapproving click of her tongue.

"You slept together, didn't you?" Mickeys head shot up, his face turning hot read as he shook his head vehemently.

"What? No? What the fuck. Why would you think that?" A small hand slapped his arm.

"That's a bad word, uncle Mickey. You have to pay a dollar now." Mickey eyed the brunette in askance but her mother nodded agreeingly.

"She's right. That's a dollar for the swear jar, uncle Mickey." The man sighed, trying not to melt over being called uncle. He'd never been around children before, but he was starting to think he could get used to it. Someday, at least. Handing Leah a bill, he turned back to her mother.

"So? Why do you think that I fu-", sorry, "that we f - u - c - k - e - d?" Mandy rolled her pretty eyes and shrugged.

"Because you're obviously g - a -y, aren't you?"

He frowned at all the spelling and shrugged.

"It's not that obvious. Is it?", He asked as he gave her an incredulous look. She scoffed.

"It is. Also, two or three years ago, before the whole attracted to nursing cases happened, you would have been just his type." She lightly pulled on a strand of her daughters long black hair.

"Right Leah? Doesn't uncle Mickey look just like Roger, Ian's old friend?"

The girl nodded, although Mickey seriously doubted that she could remember anything from when she was two.

"So what is it, then? Something must have happened?!" Mickey cursed the woman on his couch for seemingly being able to read him like an open book and shrugged.

"Not much. I don't know."

Suddenly, he saw Mandys eyes light up as she stood and placed the little boy back in Mickey's arms.

"Okay, I'm gonna go look for him, now, make sure he's okay. I've got a pretty good idea where he might be."

Mickey shook his head in panic as he stared at the two children looking up at him.

"You're gonna take the baby meat with you, right?"

But Mandy was already out the door, more than happy to have a break from the little ones.

 

* * *

 

 

Ian was sitting at the rim of the little stone balcony staring at the water beneath him. The sun was setting, painting the New York Harbor in all sorts of reds and yellow and the Statue of Liberty was only a shadow of the oncoming darkness settling over the city.

He watched as the boats drove by, listened to the waves hit the stone underneath him and smelled the salty, fresh smell of the ocean, his phone in his hands, when he heard steps behind him, coming closer. Not many people knew this place even existed, so, in a sudden urge to self defend, he got out the pocket knife he always had with him and jumped up to face his attacker.  
Mandy raised her hands mockingly and sat down where he'd been sitting minutes before.

"Mandy, what the hell are you doing here? How'd you find me?" She didn't answer, just looked at the view until Ian sat down next to her.

"I went to your house and you weren't there." Ian shrugged.

"Needed some time to think." Mandy nodded and pulled her knees up to her chest.

"About what?"

That was the Mandy he remebered. Never satisfied with a simple answer, always seeing through all the bullshit and always being concerned about his wellbeing.

 

"Did you sleep with him?" Ian turned his head abruptly and gave her a freaked out glance.

"What? No. Did he say that? What did he tell you?" Mandy rolled her eyes and rested her chin on her knees.

"Relax. He didn't say anything. Why don't you tell me? You used to tell me things, you know?"

Ian looked at her in sorrow and folded his hands before explaining what had happened the day before. When he was finished Mandy shrugged.

"So why are you so freaked out?" The redhead shrugged.

"I don't know. I wanted this to go somewhere. It felt right, you know? It felt like what I see in Lips eyes everytime he talks about you. It felt real." A little smile spread on her face at the mention of her husband.

"He missed you. He's so happy you're back and well." Ian nodded and smiled sadly.

"I know. I'm glad, too. I'm just sorry for all I've put him through. Very thankful for everything he's done for me. He must have been so worried." Mandys smile faded as quickly as it appeared.

  
They didn't talk for a while, until Ian heard his best friend sniffling.

"Mandy? Why are you cyring?" Instead of an answer, a fist came flying towards his arm.

"You fucking asshole. What about me?", Mandy cried as she kept punching at him. Ian didn't do anything, knowing he deserved every punch that hit his body, then locked his arms around the brunette and pulled her close until she stopped fighting and started sobbing.

"I called you everyday for seven months and you didn't pick up once. Not once." Ian closed his eyes, her words like bullets, painful and destructive, seering through his being.

"I'm sorry", he muttered, burying his face in her hair as he hugged her tighter, hoping that it could somehow fix the damage he had done.

"I'm so sorry, Mandy."

He could feel her tiny body shaking in his arms, the guilt spreading in his body like venom, overshadowing everything else.

Not that he hadn't felt guilty a year back when he was addicted, but there had always been a nose of heroin waiting for him, numbing the guilt, numbing everything he felt, until he didn't feel anything anymore.

 

* * *

  
Mickey was close to tears when he heard a key in the lock of their apartment, sure he had never been more relieved. The living room was lying in ruins and so were his nerves. His face was covered with eyeliner that Leah had found in Ians room and his hair was filled with the little girls pink hair clips.

"Mommy." Leah yelled when she saw her mother coming in through the door. Mickey sighed relievedly, when he saw Ian enter behind her, disappearing straight into his room without a word.

At least he was here.

"Don't you ever make me babysit again, devilwoman. I will k - i - l - l you in your sleep."

Mickey hissed as Mandy looked at him laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face. She began collecting the clips from his dark hair and as close as she was, Mickey saw the smeared make-up on her face.

"What happened? Are you okay? How's he doing?"

Mandy giggled childlike and went to pick up her son from the impromptu playpen Mickey had created from the flipped sofa table and some of his old bedsheets and T-shirts.

"Cool it with the questions, would you? I'm fine. He's okay, but he's mad. Kind of a s- h - i - t move you pulled there, Milkovich."

Mickey looked at his hands guiltily and nodded.

"He'll calm down, you'll see. Now stop thinking with your d - i - c - k and focuss on being a sober companion."

She picked up the childrens jackets and tried stuffing each kid in one.

"Words to live by", Mickey mumbled as he let Leah hug him goodbye. He smiled when she placed a huge, slobbery kiss on his cheek.

  
Once the Gallaghers were gone, Mickey started cleaning the living room. He was interrupted soon after, when the door bell rang again. He sighed and got up to answer, while he asked himself when this apartment had turned into Grand Central Station. They hadn't had that many visitors in one day, ever.

"Forgot something?", he asked as he opened the door, a goofy smile on his face, that fell right when he saw who was standing outside their apartment.

"Nick?"

He was looking bad. Really fucking bad. His clothes were stained and ripped in several places, he was only wearing one shoe and his skin was hidden underneath a layer of dirt and other unidentifiable substances. He stared at him with bloodlined eyes, that didn't look like they were able to focuss.

"Nick, what the fuck?" Mickey yelled, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"What the hell did you do?" Drawn out by the noise, Ian came out of his room, staring at their guest.

"Shit, man. Did you start using again?"

Nick didn't answer he just looked at them with crossed eyes that kept falling shut. Although having experienced similar things many times before in his profession, Mickey was frozen, the presentiment of what could have been the reason for his ex-boyfriends relapse weighing him down.

It was Ian who grabbed Nick and helped him into the apartment and into the shower.

  
"Mickey, get your shit together and help me out here."

Mickey jumped out of his trance at the mention of his name and hurried to help his protege. They rid Nick from his clothes and Mickey put him into the bathtub, waiting for the water to fill it. Ian stood in the background unsure what to do.

  
"Ian, get out of here. He's clearly under the influence. Go to your room. I'll get him out of the apartment as soon as he's clean, alright? I'm sorry."

The redhead shook his head and shrugged.

"No, it's fine. This doesn't bother me. I'll see if any of his clothes are worth washing, if not, I'll throw them out."

Mickey nodded thankfully and Ian grabbed the stinking bundle of clothing and left the room. Mickey was kneeling in front of the bathtub, holding Nick who kept nodding off.

"Fuck, Nick. You were sober for a year. Why would you give that up." The greenhaired man looked up and eyed him with a empty expression.

"You said you were gonna let me take you out yesterday. And then you cancelled. I was already on my way to pick you up."

Mickey sighed. "So?"

He shrugged.

"I took a stroll through the city and ran into some old friends and they offered me some for free. So I thought, why the fuck not?"

Mickey could only shake his head as he started scrubbing the dirt off of Nicks body.

"Dumbass fucking move, man. And why are you so fucking dirty?" Nick shrugged sheepishly.

"Don't really know. Think I slept under some parkbench."

 

When Nick was showered and freshly clothed, Mickey sat him down in the living room and went to the kitchen to make coffee. By the time he returned, Ian was sitting next to Nick, talking to him soothingly, as he slowly came to realize what he'd done the night before.

Nick straightened up when he saw Mickey in the door.

"I'm so sorry, Mick. I wanna get clean again, I swear. This was a one time thing."

His speech was clear again and his eyes honest, but Mickey had heard it all before. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced Nick relapsing and being sorry the day after. Mickey nodded, his eyes cold.

"I've heard that before."

Nick deflated a bit and Ian looked at the both of them, unable to shake the feeling that this wasn't the first conversation they'd had about the topic. It was written all over his companions face.

"You've gotta want this for yourself, Nick. I've got a friend over at the clinic at 9th street. If I call now, I'm sure she'll make room for you in a few hours. But I won't be there waiting for you and you can't stay here, because Ian's not suppossed to be in contact with people who are using."

Nick nodded understandingly. "Thank you. I won't disappoint you, Milo."

Ian could see Mickey shudder at the nickname.

"Don't call me that. We're not together anymore. And we're not going to be, do you understand? You getting sober doesn't change anything."

Nick flinched like a whipped dog but nodded.

"Yeah. Understood. I'll better get home now, thanks for the clothes and everything."

 

After Mickey got off the phone with his contact at the clinic and ordered Nick to be there at eight, Nick said his goodbyes and left to head to his home to pack a bag.

They cleaned up the apartment, Mickey in the living room, Ian in the kitchen and both went to their rooms afterwards, but Mickey was still relieved. Ian had talked to him a couple of times, which could only mean that his grudge against him was starting to wear off. Maybe he'd been wrong, thinking things couldn't get back to normal after their almost hook-up.

At seven-thirty, Mickey left the apartment and headed to the clinic. He'd forgotten to tell Ian he was leaving, so he wrote a quick text letting him know.

Time went by quickly, while he was sitting in the foyer waiting for Nick to show up. At eight, there was still no sight of him, but Mickey wasn't ready to give up just yet. The minutes on the big clock on the wall flew by and every single one felt like a punch in the stomach. He stared at his hands and kept waiting. Nick had sounded so genuine and willing a few hours ago, maybe he had just gotten the time confused.

The main door opened and instead of green hair, red hair was what Mickey saw.

Ian was standing in the foyer, his hands in his big coat, his nose red from the cold New York wind.

"I just wanted to update you, to let you know where I am. You didn't have to come."

Ian nodded and sat down in the chair next to him.

"I know. I was just bored so I thought I would keep you company while waiting." Mickey ran a hand through his hair and went back to biting his nails.

"I don't think he's gonna show. He's already late. I give him ten more minutes. So if you need to be somewhere, you can go, I appreciate the gesture."

But Ian stayed in his seat, hands folded, legs relaxedly stretched out in front of him. He stayed with Mickey until the clinic closed and as expected Nick never showed.

* * *

 

  
Ian woke up when his phone rang loudly beneath his ear. He squinted at the screen and opened the message.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER 8:36 am:**   
_It's me again. Have you thought about my offer?_

**IAN GALLAGHER 8:40 am** :  
 _Still thinking._

**UNKNOWN NUMBER 8:41 am:**   
_I don't wanna kidnap you. I just wanna catch up, I._   
_I'll be in NYC this weekend. You've got 3 days to decide. ;) - C_

**IAN GALLAGHER 8:45 am:**   
_I'll let you know._

  
Ian got out of bed and opened his door to check if Mickey was up yet. He didn't hear anything but the familiar snoring out of the companions room so he closed his door again and dived underneath his bed, yanking out the old shoebox he was storing there, full of old pictures and other sentimental crap. He dug to the bottom and got out a red envelope.

With a last glance towards the door he opened it and picked out the small plastic bag, smaller than the palm of his hand and stared at the brown powder inside. Before yesterday he had never seriously thought about relapsing, until the small package had fallen out of the pocket of Nicks jeans. Whispering to take it and hide it somewhere Mickey would never find it, inviting him to have a smell.

Just a tiny bit wouldn't hurt him, would it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ♥


	7. Spirits that I've cited, my commands ignore

The door flew open and within seconds, Mickey was inside the room, looking at Ian in askance.

"The fuck are you doing sitting on the floor?" Ian, who had the little bag safely in his fist, shrugged, put it back into the shoebox und pushed it under the bed.

"Nothing, why?"

His heart was out of his chest, although he was positive that Mickey hadn't seen what he was looking at. The companion stared at him suspiciously for a moment, until remembering why he'd come here in the first place.

"Right, um, there's someone at the door for you. Looks old as fuck."

Ian furrowed his brows. He wasn't expecting anyone, especially not some old person. He nodded towards Mickey and walked to the front door, as the feeling of who had come to see him got stronger with every step.

"You?" Ian said.

It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement.

  
He looked horrible. His hair, that he used to dye black was grey and barely even there at the top of his head. His face looked a hundred years older than the last time he had seen him. Only two things had remained the same. His ridiculously expensive suit and that big grin on his face, that seemed too young for a close to 60 year-old man.

"Surprise, Babe. You look great."

Ian didn't know what to feel.

"What the hell are you doing here? How'd you find out where I live?"

Clyde laughed in a way that made Mickey want to peel that laugh off his face with a knife.

"Did you forget who I am? I'm CEO of a giant firm. You think I don't know people who can track you down like that? It's how I found out your phone number, too."

He snapped one of his long, wrinkled fingers and Ian shuddered at the arrogance that he had found so different and attractive when they had first met.

Mickey who was standing a few feet behind him, arms crossed before his chest and eyebrows raised so highly they were close to touching his hairline, scoffed. He stepped a little closer and gently placed a hand on the small of Ians back.

"That Clyde?"

Ian, who was looking as pale as ever, nodded.

  
A big smile spread across Mickeys face as he slowly rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, stepping closer to where the guest was standing.

"That's great", he said, looking scarier than Ian had ever seen him.

"I've been wanting to meet you for quite some time now."

 

Clyde didn't catch the dangerous vibe and the hazardous tone coming from Mickey, so he eyed the darkhaired man up and down, licking his lips.

"Ian, don't be rude. Introduce me, would you?"

He hadn't even had a chance to finish his sentence, when Mickeys fist collided with the front of his teeth. There was a nasty cracking sound that send shivers down Ians spine and Clyde instantly fell to the floor. He was wincing in pain, pressing both hands onto his mouth, a thin line of blood dripping down his chin and Ian was frozen. He didn't feel bad for Clyde, he didn't enjoy watching him getting punched, either. He was made out of stone as he stood there and watched while Mickey kicked the old man a couple of times, then backed off.

"Get the fuck outta here", he spat and his last kick sent Clyde running down the corridor towards the door that lead to the staircase, arms bent and swinging around loosely.

"And learn how to run like a dude!"

Mickey closed the door once he was sure Clyde had left the hallway and turned to Ian who was standing still, eyes unfocussed.

"I'll admit, I kinda lost my temper there, but I'm not gonna apologize for it. Fucker had it coming."

Ian nodded absent-mindedly and walked into the living room.

  
Seeing Clyde again wasn't at all like he had always thought it would be. There were no sparks, no feelings rushing back into his mind, convincing him that he should give him another chance. No wishes to go back to that time when all he worried about was his lover and his next fix.

Instead he felt good. Surprised, a little shocked maybe, but none of the things he'd been dreading to feel he actually felt. 

Mickey touching him, on the other hand, was a whole different story.  
He could still feel his hand on his back, like it had left a print there, that radiated warmth and comfort through his body. Ian was torn out of his thoughts when Mickey snapped a finger in front of his face.

"Ay, Gallagher? You hearin' me?"

He focussed his eyes on black hair and piercing blue eyes and Mickey was so close he could smell his scent. It took everything for Ian to not lean forward and kiss the worried look off of his companions face.

He harrumphed. "Sorry, what?"

Mickey rolled his eyes and took a step back.

"I said we've got a thing we gotta talk about."

"What do you mean?" The darkhaired man crossed his arms before his chest and leaned back, looking like a scolding mother as he puffed out his cheeks.

"You wanna tell me why you didn't tell me that Clyde had contacted you?" Ian shrugged.

"Didn't think it was important."

The other man almost lost it, snorting incredulosly.

"You didn't think it -", Mickey couldn't believe what he was hearing. "He didn't think it was important. Can you believe that?"

Mickey blushed when he met Ians weirded out glance.

"Who are you talking to, right now?" He shrugged the question off and went back to mother hen mode.

"Don't you change the subject, Ian Gallagher. And tell me, how is you hearing from your ex-supplier not important?"

Ian really didn't have an answer for that. He had known very well that not telling Mickey about Clyde contacting him was problematic and it kind of felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, now that the truth was out.

"When did you first hear from him?" Mickey had started pacing back and forth on the carpet and Ian couldn't help but smile at the looks of it.

"It was that night."

The companion stopped his pacing and met his telling gaze briefly. He knew which night he was talking about without asking and now that he mentioned it, Mickey could recall something about a phone buzzing somewhere in the night.

"What? And since then you've been texting? Sending fucking heart emojis back and forth and shit like that?"

Mickey cursed silently. It had suppossed to sound scolding, instead it just sounded jealous. And he was. Even if he didn't allow himself to admit it.

"No, Mick, jesus. He texted me to ask if I wanted to meet. Catch up and shit."

Mickey raised his eyebrows.

"So what'd you say back?" Ian eyed his fingers in his lap sheepishly.

"Said I'd think about it." It wasn't more than a whisper and Mickey hadn't understood the muffled sounds coming from the redheads mouth.

"What's that?" The redhead repeated his words.

" _What's that?_ ", Mickey questioned again and Ian rolled his eyes.

"I said, I'd think about it."

Mickey shut him up with a wave of his hand.

"I heard you the second time Gallagher. I was trying to emphasize what a dumb fucking fucktwat you are."

Ian scoffed, offended by the comment and got up to head to the kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Ian ignored the companion and kept walking, hearing Mickey following close behind.

  
After he had gotten a pack of frozen peas out of the freezer, Ian turned around to his flatmate and offered it to him.

'I'm not hungry and I don't eat peas, Gallagher, especially when they're still frozen."

Ian rolled his eyes, reached for his hand and placed it on his knuckles, that were already starting to bruise. Mickey hissed when the cold plastic met his skin.

"You have the gentleness of a blacksmith, Ian. Slam that on there, why don't you?"

Ian rolled his eyes as he pressed the peas onto Mickeys hand, an excellent excuse to touch him, and Mickey didn't complain, nor did he pull his hand away.

 

* * *

 

 

The following days were spent with movies and TV shows, while Mickey tried to make Ian go look for a job. Without success but he wasn't done trying. Persistency was a specialty of his, a basic requirement for his work.

Ian wasn't doing so well, a cold tying him down and he spent most of his time in bed moping around about how horribly he was feeling.

On a thursday night, Mickey could finally convince him to go see a movie. They didn't know what to watch so they decided to make reservations for the first thing on the list.

Fortunately, it was some action movie with an exchangable story and even more exchangable actors, but it would be fine. As long as there would be stuff blowing up and people getting yanked, Mickey was on board.

 

Once they were both showered and dressed, they met in the living room. Mickey was sitting on the couch, concentrated on getting his watch around his wrist, when Ian entered the room.

He was wearing light beige pants with loafers, and a pink sweater. To top the look off, he had a thin golden necklace around his neck and Mickey had no words.

"Shit, Ian." He looked the redhead over again and shook his head in disbelief.

"You look ridiculous." Ian deflated a little bit, clearly disappointed by his companions reaction.

"What's that look you're rocking? Russian pimp meets soccer mom?"

He got up and took a closer look at the golden chain, weighing it in his hands.

"Fuck you, Mick. I look great."

He shrugged. Whatever you say."

He dug around in the pocket of his jeans for a while until he found what he was looking for. He waved the drug test in front of Ians face and waited for him to take it, but he didn't.

 

"Time for some random drug testing, man. Chop chop, we'll miss the trailers if we don't leave soon."

Ian wasn't moving. He looked surprised, a little startled and Mickey thought he was seeing a hint of panic in his eyes, but he wasn't sure. It could have just been the light reflecting in the green color of his iris.

"Why?", Ian asked suspiciously, still not moving.

Mickey was getting impatient, so he placed the test In Ians hand, gently pushing him towards the direction of the bathroom.

"Why the fuck not? It's a random drug test. Will you just pee on the fucking stick so we can go?"

Ian hesitated a few seconds before he sighed and walked off, returning minutes after with the stick in his hands. Mickey took it and put it in the case of the testing kit.

Ian eyed him, awaiting the results but Mickey didn't praise him like he usually did after drug testing.

"What's the matter? Something wrong?" There was a slight tremble in his voice and his fingers were nervously fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. Mickey shook his head.

"Don't know yet. This test is a little more thorough. Takes two hours until the test results are ready. We'll see when we come back."

 

The movie was okay, nothing special but a welcome diversion to their usual daily routine and Ian seemed strangely chipper as they walked home in the oncoming darkness of the night. Maybe it was because he was just happy that day, maybe it was because how good it felt to embarass Mickey by wearing the outfit he had chosen solely for this purpose, either way he was light on his feet and as talkative as ever.

They made a stop when they passed a starbucks and Mickey bought a black coffee for himself and a Chai Latte something that he had Ian order himself because he couldn't, for the life of him, remember the exact order.

"You want sugar?" Ian called as Mickey was already on the way out of the shop.

"Nah, I'm good."

He held the door open for Ian who was balancing his cup and a bag with pastries. He nodded as a thank you and grinned at him.

"Sweet enough already, huh?" Mickey shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Lame joke, Gallagher. Just lame."

He eyed him disapprovingly and Ian just shrugged and walked a little faster, knowing it bugged Mickey because it would always get hard for him to keep up with his short legs. They walked in comfortable silence, occasionally taking a sip from their coffee as Ian whistled some song they had heard on the radio during breakfast.

"Why are you so chipper today? Do I have to be concerned about that drug test being positive?"

The redhead didn't turn to look at him, but he shook his head.

"I think I'm on a caffeine high, Mickey."

He was grinning brightly and spent the rest of the way home telling the dumbest jokes he could think of, knowing it infuriated Mickey.

 

"What are two Jean-Claude Van Dammes called?", he asked as they crossed the dark hallway that lead to their door. Mickey didn't answer.

He'd stopped responding ten minutes before, after Ian had made a joke, asking what was white and stood behind a tree, the answer being 'a shy milk'.

"Van Double-Dayum."

He laughed at his own joke, like he usually did and kept walking until he bumped into Mickey who had stopped in front of their door, shushing him when he tried to talk. He turned on the light next to the doorbell and Ian saw why Mickey had stopped. Their door was open, the wood around the lock splintered.

  
"Stay here." Mickey whispered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jackknife, the dull sound of the blade snapping open echoing through the empty hallway.

"Mickey, what the actual fuck?", Ian whispered, staring flabbergasted at the casualty with which Mickey handled the knife.

"Let me go first, it's my apartment after all", but his companion just scoffed.

"What are you gonna do, huh? Spank the intruder with your fucking necklace? I gotta protect your stupid ass."

Ians face turned soft at the last sentence and Mickey harrumphed, quick to correct himself.

"Not gonna get paid shit if you die, you know?" Ian smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

 

  
Mickey kicked the door open, an unnecessary but weirdly attractive move, in Ians opinion, and entered the hallway, the knife readily in his right hand.

It was chaos. Every drawer and every closet was turned upside down, its content spread all over the floor. The living room and their bedrooms looking similar.

At least, nobody was in the apartment anymore, which made Ian very happy, solely because he was pretty sure Mickey would have been too willing to use that hugeass knife he was carrying around and trying to come on to your sober companion was a lot more difficult if that person was in prison.

"Go to your room and check if anything's missing. I'll do the same in mine!", Mickey ordered and they both disappeared in their rooms.

Mickeys mood dropped considerably when he noticed his laptop and his old, but dearly beloved Mp3-Player were gone. He didn't think highly of the police, but decided to call them anyways.  
Ian burst into his bedroom his face mirroring Mickeys emotions.

"My laptop's gone, my ipod and some cash I had hidden. Couple of hudred dollars."

He sat on the bed and let his eyes wander around the room.

He found it to be quite interesting to see Mickey Milkovichs belongings all spread out in front of him, but before he could take a closer look, Mickey kicked him against the shin and nodded towards the door, a clear sign to leave the room.

To his surprise, the companion was following close behind.

"I just called the police. They'll come here to make a list of whatever's missing. Take some prints, I guess? I don't know, something like that."

Ian nodded and started picking up coats and scarfs from the floor in the hallway, putting them back into the closet. The shoehorn he was about to put back into its drawer fell to the floor with a loud bang as he suddenly remembered something in his room that wouldn't look too good if the police, by any chance, found it.

Careful not to disturb Mickey, who was looking at him in askance, any further, he picked up the shoehorn and put it back into the dresser.

"I forgot to check for something. Be right back."

He walked slowly until he was out of Mickeys sight, then sprinted to his room, diving underneath the bed to get the packet of heroin out. There was a slim chance, he thought, that the police would even look underneath his bed, but with the charges of possession he'd gotten last year, he couldn't risk it.

The packet of brown powder back in his hand, Ian stood up and turned around, only to see Mickey standing in the door, leaned against the dark wood, his coffee in his hands. His eyes were dark and Ian was expecting a punch in the face, but Mickey just sprawled out his arm, clicking his tongue impatiently.

"Hand it over."

It didn't take much of a sermon or anything else, the weight of Mickeys disappointed glare was enough for Ian to feel truly horrible.

He placed the bag in his hand and watched as Mickey tore it open and lifted the lid of his coffee. Ian frowned, now more confused than anything else.

"You can just put it in the toilet and flush it. You don't have to ruin your coffee."

Mickey didn't listen as he emptied the bag and put the lid back on, circling the cup so the powder mixed with the black liquid. Before anybody could say anything else, the doorbell rang. Ian got up and they walked to the door together.

"Saved by the bell, Gallagher," Mickey hissed, clearly fuming.

 

* * *

 

 

They showed the two policemen around the apartment, listing what was missing and they took a few fingerprints, but it was obvious on their bored, tired faces, that they would neither put in a lot of effort to find the intruder, nor do anything for them to get their valuables replaced.

After 15 minutes of awkward smalltalk while they sorted through their stuff, they left again, promising to be in touch.

"Yeah, right." Mickey spat after the door closed behind them.

"We'll never hear from them again."

Ian nodded silently. He didn't really dare to say anything, waiting for hell to break loose.

 

Having to watch Mickey while the police were searching the place had been slow torture, like a sort of twisted foreplay to the scolding that would happen once they were alone again. Now, Mickey was standing in front of the door, teeth gritted and lips between his teeth, chewing furiously.

_The calm before the storm_ , Ian thought right as Mickey turned around, fixating on him.

"Living room," he ordered and followed Ian who obeyed without another word.

Ian sat down and Mickey started pacing again, just like he'd done a couple of days ago.

"You wanna explain this?", he asked, jaw clenched, his fist gripping the coffee cup in his hands way too tightly.

Ian inhaled extendedly to save himself some time. It only drew out a warning growl out of Mickey.

"Relax, Mick." Bad choice of words.

"Don't fucking tell me to relax," his companion thundered, starting to pace again.

"Look," Ian began, eyeing Mickey with caution. He still wasn't convinced Mickey wouldn't punch him.

"It's not like I took it, why are you getting so mad?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows and turned to face him.

"Because you're so much better than this, Ian. I can't believe you. You've got a family, remember? You wanna do this to Mandy again? To Lip? Paying for all your shit and you keep fucking heroin in your room."

He shook his head and took a sip of his coffee.

"I can't believe you."

 

" _MICKEY, SPIT THAT OUT_!"  

Mickey looked at him and laughed darkly. "Why?"

Ian's heart was in his throat as he watched Mickey raise the cup to his mouth again, watching his adam's apple jump as he swallowed. Ian didn't know what to say, so he jumped up and slapped the cup out of his companions hand.

"It's fucking sugar, you dumbass", Mickey yelled and Ian stood, deflated and dumbfounded.

"What?" he asked weakly. Mickeys face was all bitterness now.

"You think I didn't see the bag in your hand the other day? I threw out the heroin. What was in there was fucking regular brown sugar." Ian frowned.

"You changed it out? Why not just tell me you found it?" Mickey threw his hands up, shrugging his shoulders.

"Because I wanted you to confess to me that you had it. I wanted you to be honest with me, tell me you made a mistake and wanna get rid of it or some shit. Stupid fucking me, huh? Believing you would wanna be honest with me?"

The betrayal in his eyes hurt so bad, Ian had to sit back down before his knees got any weaker.

"I'm sorry, Mickey," his voice was weak and feeble, barely audible at that point.

"Yeah? I don't know anymore with you, Ian. I should tell Lip about the heroin."

Ians heart sank into his pants.

"Please don't, Mick. Please." Mickey ran a hand over his face. He was so tired at this point.

"Look, Ian. I like you, I want you to be sober and I'm just not sure if I can let that slide without feeling like you could relapse at any moment. Your drugtest came out negative, so that's good. Where'd you even get the stuff?"

"It fell out of Nick's pocket when I threw out his clothes."

 

Mickey turned around to face him and the anger was gone from his face leaving eyes as big as saucers, as he seemed to realize something.

"Nick," Mickey whispered and the next second he was gone, running towards his room. Ian didn't get it right away, then the scales fell from his eyes.

Nick. The break-in.

He followed Mickey into his room, not sure why stormed off. He found him in front of his dresser, kneeling on the floor, a small box in his hands.

"It's gone."

Mickey searched Ians gaze and he looked so lost all of a sudden, it felt like a clean cut through his heart.

"What's gone?" Ian asked weakly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Iggy's coin. It's gone."

Ian sat down on the floor next to him sorting through the clothes on the floor.

"Are you sure? It might just be somewhere here between all this mess?"

Mickey shook his head but joined Ian in sorting through the clothes.

"It could've only been him. He's the only one who knows about the coin and how I like to keep the box in my sock drawer. I kept it there when I was living with him."

Ian didn't wanna believe it.

"No, why would he take it? It's only worth like 50 bucks, right?" Mickey huffed out a sad laugh.

"He's a junkie, Ian. Think about it. Wouldn't you have taken anything you could turn into money to buy drugs?"

He didn't answer. What was he supposed to say? Of course he would have.

"So you think he came here just to steal all our stuff? Why not somewhere else?" Mickey stopped searching and leaned his back against his bed.

"Don't you remember Ian? He was so hurt that I blew him off on my birthday. It was killing two birds with one stone. Getting some money and getting back at me."

He let his head sink into his hands and Ian was flooded by guilt. This was all his fault. If he hadn't made Mickey stay on his birthday, none of this would have ever happened. The companion looked up, as if he was sensing what Ian was thinking.

"It's not your fault, Ian. It's not!" Ian returned his look and sat down next to him, putting his hand on his.

"I'm so sorry." He didn't know what else to say. There was nothing that would make this okay. Nothing he could say or do to bring back Iggy's coin, so he just sat there, stroking Mickeys hand maladroitly as he whispered comforting things.

Mickey didn't listen, couldn't listen, the sorrow over the loss of the only thing that reminded him of his brother like a black hole in his stomach, absorbing every other feeling he had, every sound that he heard, making him numb to his surroundings.

They didn't sleep that night, but they laid on Mickeys bed, in the middle of the chaos, comforted by the presence of the other. And with every inch that Ian scooted closer to Mickey, the hole in his stomach shrinked, making the pain bearable.

At least for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all uphill from here, I promise!  
> Thank you for all your comments and Kudos! ♥  
> One Chapter to go and I'm sad this is almost over :C


	8. Brown Sugar

 

Time moves quickly when you don't want something to end.

That much Ian knew for sure, because the last ten days of Mickey being his sober companion flew right by. Busy with NA meetings, lunches with Lip, Mandy and the kids and the search for a Sponsor for Ian, there wasn't as much down time as Ian would have liked.

 

It was Mickeys last day and he was packing up his things, Ian sitting on the bed, eating Nachos.

"You get one drop of that dip onto my sheets, I swear I'm gonna punch you, Gallagher."

Ian just rolled his eyes and demonstratively dipped his Chip into the Sour Cream Dip he was holding. The Companion scoffed and continued stuffing his socks into one of his bags.

"So, have you picked a sponsor, yet?" Mickey asked carefully. Ian hadn't been too keen on letting someone else into his life, who would know about his problems with addiction, but Mickey had insisted on a sponsor, especially after the whole Heroin-in-shoebox-incident that both didn't like to talk about too much.

Ian frowned and shrugged his bare shoulders. The tanktop he was wearing was really barely there and an unwelcome distraction to Mickeys packing process. There were still a couple of hours left, where he was Ians official sober companion, so the thoughts about what those strong, muscular arms could do to him had to wait a little while longer.

"Actually, I was saving that as a little going away present, but what the hell. I'll just tell you know. You know when I told you I would go to get some groceries yesterday? I lied." Mickey turned around to face his protege and raised his brows.

"It's great that you so carefully stick to my rules, man. Thanks, feels like I talked to a fucking wall when I told you that Honesty is the most important thing to me."

Ian didn't even bother to acknowledge his rebuke, he just kept talking.

"I actually went to lunch with that Karen girl from group, you know? The blonde chick. Thin as a stick, very pretty?"

Mickey nodded, trying to ignore how relieved he felt that Ians sponsor wasn't a guy.

"Karen's pretty cool. We talked and shit, I asked her if she wanted to be my sponsor and she said yes. Done. That's what you wanted, right?" The older man was kind of speechless, having previously thought he would have to force Ian to pick somebody to help him stay sober, so he just nodded.

"That's great, Ian."

He hesitated, then sat down next to the redhead.

  
Things had been awkward between them for a while, to say the least. In the morning after the break-in they'd fallen asleep in each others arms, exhausted from the night before, but Mickey had moved to the Couch as soon as he'd woken up, knowing he had again crossed that line between companion and protege and Ian hadn't understood why Mickey didn't just give in to his feelings.  
Ian placed a hand on his, but Mickey pulled it back immediately.

"Ian, we've been through this before. I can't do this while I'm still employed as your SC," he said and Ian huffed frustratedly.

"Seriously? You're moving in out in like four hours. That's ridiculous, Mick."

Mickey got up, trying to make it seem like he just wanted to keep packing but his life was in boxes and everything left to do was get the sheets off his bed. The same sheets he and Ian had lied on 10 nights ago, so close to each other it would have been hard to determine where one began and where the other ended.

Now packing up all his things seemed to make the whole thing final and Mickey didn't know yet, if he would see Ian again after this was over.

He wanted to, for sure, but was he what Ian really needed? Was it healthy for him to be with Mickey? He knew of many other Sober Companions that had started something with their proteges after their time together was over and not once had it ended well. Some of these breakups had even lead to relapses and that was the last thing Mickey wanted for Ian.

 

A couple of hours later when all three of Mickeys boxes were packed and placed in the hallway, Mickey went into the living room to join Ian, who had a big frown on his face.

"Alright, I'm good to go", Mickey chirped in an attempt to sound uplifting, but Ian saw right through him.

"Are you gonna be alright here?" Ian huffed out a laugh and got up.

"I'm gona be fine. I'm also gonna safe so much money now that you're not eating all my food." Mickey could only scoff at that.

"Please, I'll be just fine without you poisoning me daily. My immune system must be at its peak after six week with your food."

Ian smiled a crooked Ian smile, that made Mickey forget what he had wanted to say, but before they could say anything else though, say their goodbyes properly, the front door opened and Lip walked in, all smiles and happiness.

"Good afternoon, fellas. How's it going? Thought I'd join in on the goodbye ceremony." Ian and Mickey looked at each other, then looked at Lip and smiled forcedly.

"Lip, hey. What's up?" The blond flopped down on the couch next to his brother and padded him on the back.

When Mickeys taxi called from down on the street and it was time for him to go, Mickey offered Lip a hand and due to Ians brother being in the room, Mickey and Ian's goodbyes were limited to meaningful glances and a lingering handshake.

They were both equally pissed off about Lip being there, but there wasn't anything they could have said or done to get him to leave without seeming suspicious, so after a last look, Mickey was out of the door and out of Ians life, as quickly as he had become a part of it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A week went by without them talking, texting or communicating in any way, until Ians desire to hear from his ex-companion became bigger than his pride so he decided to send him a text. _Casual_ he thought.

 

**Ian Gallagher (2:00pm):**   
_Hi Mick, just thought I'd ask how you are. I'm doing well. You left your toothbrush behind, figured you maybe needed it?_   
_Anyways, hope you're well and everything's good. Got a new client yet?_

 

"Casual?" Mandy spat as Ian showed her the text he had sent a couple of days ago.

"That's suppossed to be a casual text? You sound like a desperate, love-struck school boy. Jesus, Ian. Call me next time before you embarass yourself like that."

Ian looked at her in askance and lifted his hands defensively.

"No, I don't. He left his toothbrush. People need their toothbrushes." Mandy just rolled her blue eyes at him and started changing Noahs diapers.

"You think he hasn't noticed that he didn't bring his toothbrush? After more than a week? Does he not brush his teeth regularly?"

Ian sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. They were in Noahs room, getting him ready to go to bed so they could sit on the couch and binge on Chips and 'Law & Order: SVU' without disturbance. Lip was working late because of a big gig at the firm, so Ian had spent the last couple of evenings with Mandy, trying to make up for lost time.

"What am I suppossed to do? I haven't heard from him in so long. It's weird when you live with someone and all of a sudden they're just out of your life."

Mandy placed her little boy in his crib and pulled Ian out of the room.

"Look, Ian. If he wants to, he'll get in touch. Stop waiting by the phone, would you? It's embarassing."

The redhead pouted and spread out on the couch while Mandy got the snacks from the kitchen.

Right as the brunette joined him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. They shared a look before Ian jumped up and got his phone out of his pocket. Mandy tried to snatch it from his hands but he got it out of her reach in time.

"Fuck off, Mandy. You're not reading this."

He turned her back to his best friend and opened the message when he felt Mandy jump onto his back.

"Hell yes, you're gonna show me the fucking text. I've been listening to your whining all day it's only fair."

 

**Mickey Milkovich (7:33pm):**   
_Bought a new one. I'm good, thx_

 

Mandy could feel Ian deflate underneath her as he read through the text. She jumped off his back and placed a hand on his back.

"As talkative as ever. Maybe he just needs some time to get over the whole dead-brothers-coin thing, huh?" She sounded uplifting but it didn't do much for Ians mood.

"I tried talking to him about it the next day, but he just blocked it off and said he was over it. That has nothing to do with me, though." Mandy sighed audibly and sat back down on the sofa, Ian following close behind.

"Look Ian, maybe it's not meant to be. Some infinities are are shorter than others, right?" Ian looked up and smiled fondly.

"You read that book I got you for your birthday?" Mandy shrugged.

"Of course. Fucking sad as fuck. Lip gave me some weird looks because I was bawling my eyes out at the end." She shook her head quickly.

"Anyways, not the point. What I'm trying to say is that maybe Mickey isn't looking to hook up with another addict. Look what happened the last time."

Ian closed his eyes. He would have rather done anything else than think about Mickey and Nick together. But if Mickey didn't wanna get together, there was nothing he could do about it at this point.

"When are you picking me up tomorrow? Six, like last time?" he asked instead. Mandy nodded and stuffed a handful of chips in her mouth while starting the Episode.

 

* * *

 

  
It took another six days for Mickey to get in touch with Ian and when he did, Ian was in the shower. He heard his phone ring, jumped out and quickly dried the side of his head, before answering. "Hello?" He whispered breathlessly and the man on the other side of the line laughed lowly.

"It's Mickey. Am I disturbing something?"

Ian could practically feel his whole being relax at the sound of Mickeys voice. He shook his head until he realized Mickey couldn't see him. Jesus he really had to get his shit together hear.

"Um, no. Well, yeah, kind of." Nicely done. Very easy breezy. He harrumphed and heard Mickey chuckle.

"I was in the shower."

"In the shower? You take your phone with you into the bathroom?"

Shit, Ian rushed through probable explanations in his head. He definitely hadn't taken his phone with him because he was scared of missing a text of call from a certain someone... Definitely not.

"Uh, yeah. Noah's sick and I'm on alert if Mandy needs something." _Quick thinking_ , Ian was impressed with himself. Mickey seemed to believe him.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Now Mickey was the one who sounded nervous and taken off guard.

"Right. Uh, you free tomorrow night?"

Ians heart started beating hard in his chest and he was glad that Mickey couldn't see the big smile that was creeping up on his face. _Casual_.

"Uh, not sure. Why?"

Mickey seemed taken aback by the answer. He definitely hadn't thought about what would happen if Gallagher said no to his proposition.

"You wanna do something?"

Ian took his time with his answer. Weighing his every word so Mickey wouldn't hang up on him immediately.

"You wanna take me on a date or something, Milkovich?"

He could practically see the slight blush streaming into the companions cheeks, like it always did when he was embarassed.

"Not really the dinner and a movie type", he stated and Ian smiled. It didn't really come as a big surprise.

"How about I just come to your place then? See where you live? Let's say around eight?"

Mickeys relieved sigh drew a laugh out of Ian but he managed to disguise it as a cough.

"Alright man. I'll text you my address." Ian started to do a little happy dance while he heard the words come out of Mickeys mouth.

"Okay. I'll see you later." Mickey muffled out a response and hung up the phone.

A small cheer came out of Ians mouth as he covered his bathroom in drops of water. When the soap started dripping into his eyes he climbed back inside the tub and with the thought of seeing Mickey again tomorrow, he decided to stay in the shower a little longer than usual.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mickey Milkovich was many things. Unbalanced, emotional, aggressive, sometimes funny and on his best days even nice but he was never nervous. Except that today he was. And very much so.

It was four o'clock and after cleaning his whole shitty one bedroom apartment, he had already showered twice, because after the first time his nerves had caused him to sweat so much he felt the need to jump under the shower again.

Now he was running around in his boxers trying to see his apartment through the eyes of someone who had never seen it before to check if everything was clean and tidy.

And he hated himself for caring so much. He also hated that he was already starting to feel warm again. And him getting angry only caused him to feel warmer. It was a devil's spiral, really.

After he declared his apartment visitor-worthy, he tackled his wardrobe to look for something to wear. In vain. It became painfully clear to him, that at 25 he was still dressing like a 15-year-old boy, with tank tops and sweatpants and print t-shirts.

Although looking way too formal, in the end he opted for a dark green dressshirt and a pair of skinny jeans that Ian had made him buy a couple of weeks ago.

He avoided looking into the mirror because he thought he looked ridiculous in pants this tight, twitching and tweaking in all the wrong places. He decided against slicking his hair back, remembering the comment Ian had made about that hairstyle.

Going all natural with that mop on his head was out of the question, though, so he styled it a little bit and left the bathroom.

Staying in there longer, staring at himself, would have only lead to more anger and more sweating which would have lead to another shower and if he had to do that again today, he thought, he might just have drowned himself in there, simply to avoid having to repeat the process one more time.

He definitely needed something to cool down, so he went to his fridge and got out an icecube from the freezer.

Had he known that sucking an icecube would lead to him biting his tongue and him biting his tongue would lead to him choking on the little piece of frozen water, he would have just run down to the nearest newsstand to get a pack of cigarettes, a way more pleasurable way to calm down.

He hadn't known, though, so he just stood there, waiting for his eyes to stop watering and his throat to stop hurting.

With all his preparations going so incredibly well, he decided to take a nap instead of freaking out some more, which turned out to be another mistake because the thing that woke him was a knock on the door.  
Mickey jolted up and checked the time on his phone. 8 o'clock. He quickly put a piece of gum in his mouth before running to open the door.

Ian stood there, smiling brighter than the fucking sun and it would have taken Mickeys breath away, if he hadn't already been out of breath from running to answer the door.

"Hi!" Ian beamed and all the nervousness Mickey had felt earlier felt ridiculous now that he was standing in front of him.

The fluorescent light of the hallway met Ians hair in a way that made the color stand out even more, shimmering in different shades of red, making it hard for Mickey to focuss his eyes on anything else. The long-known calmness Ian's presence caused for him flooded his body and he returned Ians smile as if out of reflex. They stood there smiling at each other until Ians face turned from excited to grossed out.

"Uh, what's on your face?"

Mickey quickly covered his face with his hand to feel for something out of the ordinary and turned to the hallway mirror when something wet met his hand. There was a thin line of drool dripping from the side of his mouth and he could feel his cheeks turn the color of Ians hair.

"I was asleep when you knocked", he said sheepishly looking to the floor.

Before he could do anything about the fluid in his face, Ian raised his hand and wiped it off.

"That's disgusting!" he laughed as he wiped the drool off on Mickeys shirt and entered the apartment.

"What the hell are you carrying man? You movin' in?", the companion asked, as Ian dropped a massive paper bag of groceries on the sofa. The redhead took off his jacket, revealing a plain white V-neck t-shirt and Mickey instantly felt stupid for dressing up.

"I'm cooking dinner tonight!" he announced proudly as he watched Mickeys expression become irritated.

"You do remember what happenend last time you cooked for the both of us, don't you?", he asked, bewildered and if he was being honest, a little scared to be poisoned again. Ian grinned and lifted one eyebrow suggestively.

"Oh, I definitely remember what happenend last time. That's why I'm cooking again."

He gave his baffled companion another smirk and carried the grocery bag towards where he thought the kitchen was.

"You cooking in the bathroom today, Gallagher?"

Mickey asked and Ian stopped in his tracks, turning towards the door Mickey was pointing to.

"That was almost cool", the companion mumbled to himself as he followed the redhead to the kitchen.

 

 

"So what have you been up to?" Ian asked casually as he spread the groceries across Mickeys small kitchen table. Mickey who was sitting on the counter top shrugged, playing with a loose button on the sleeve on his shirt.

"I sort of changed career." Ian looked up in askance and Mickey explained.

"I quit my job at the sober companion agency. Kinda through with that. Not because of you", he added when he saw Ians freaked out face.

"Just tired of always moving around and everything I guess. I don't like subletting the apartment while I'm on a job, there's some weird people that rent the place and I don't trust them with my stuff." Ian nodded understandingly.

"So", he continued "I got a job at a security firm. Had the interview last week and got the call to confirm my employment a couple of days ago. I'm starting monday."

He jumped down from the counter and sat down at the table where Ian ordered him to cut up tomatoes.

"Like rockstars and festivals? Meeting all the top celebrities?" Ian asked, a mixture of excitement and jealousy in his voice.

Mickey huffed. _If only._

"More like boring ass politics and shit but it pays well." Ian nodded and started mixing flour and eggs in a bowl he found in one of the cupboards.

"By the way", Mickey asked as he sliced some more vegetables "what are we having? This all looks crazy healthy?!"

Ian laughed and eyed the older man up an down.

"It's not that healthy. Although it looks like you could use some more healthy in your diet."

Mickey instantly sat up straight and sucked in his gut, too offended by the comment to form words. He stared Ian down as he pulled his shirt into place so it was hiding his stomach.

Ian was eyeing him with a weirded out look on his face.

"What the hell are you doing? I didn't mean you look like you've gained weight, Mick. Jesus, I meant the empty pizza cartons over there?" Mickey looked to where he was pointing and saw the considerable amount of cartons that he had forgotten to throw out.

"You look great" Ian added sheepishly, not meeting his eyes. "very great. You've got nothing to worry about."

Mickey tried not to blush at the compliment and kept his eyes peeled on the cutting board in front of him. Something about Gallagher had his stomach doing flips and he didn't know what to say next.

"Um," Ian began after a few minutes of silence "I'm making pasta. Like homemade pasta."Mickey looked up at him in wonder.

"You know how to do that?"

The redhead nodded, a small smile on his face.

"I've started cooking lessons with Mandy. Twice a week." He shrugged at Mickeys amused glance.

"Much needed cooking lessons, if I 'm allowed to say so." Ian laughed at the comment and nodded agreeingly.

"They were kinda court ordered. Well, Lip ordered, but he's a lawyer so.. Mandy and me almost poisoned him the other day. We were out on a walk with the kids and we found some mushrooms on the side of the road. They looked like chanterelles so we took them home and made them for dinner with steak and vegetables. After that disaster he forced us to start cooking lessons. But they're really fun especially with Mandy."

Mickey laughed at the memory of the brunette. He liked her directness and the way she didn't take anyones bullshit and he missed having her and the kids around.

"She misses you." Ian said quietly and once again it felt like Ian had read his thoughts. Mickey smiled fondly and nodded.

"Yeah, me too."

 

 

  
Cooking went better than expected and although taking a long time, at around ten the meal of homemade pasta with grilled vegetables and a salad that Mickey didn't go near to, was done. He still had a trauma from the mayonaise salad Ian had created.

They sat down on the couch, due to lack of a real dinner table and Mickey got back up to get something to drink while Ian looked around the apartment.

It was very simple, obvious that Mickey didn't live here most of the time. There were no pictures or anything personal like that, only a flag of some hockey club Ian didn't know and in one corner a couple of drawing pads and Ian was about to open one, when Mickey reentered the room.

"I'd like to make a toast", he announced, a silly grin on his face that made Ians insides melt, holding two wineglasses filled with what looked like Coke.

"to your sobriety and to you making food that, hopefully, actually tastes good and isn't a health hazard."

Ian nudged him playfully and took one of the glasses into his hand, letting their drinks clink together.

"To your new job!" Mickey rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Alright, fine. Cheers."

 

They put down their glasses almost simultaneously and before Ian became discouraged, he leaned forward, grabbed Mickey by his shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

Startled at first, Mickey quickly melted into Ians lips on his and before he knew it, he was pushed into a horizontal position with Ian on top of him, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Mickey shifted until he was lying comfortably, then wrapped his arms around the redhead on top of him, gently rubbing his back as they explored each others mouths. He let his hand wander to the back of Ians neck, guiding his movements, as he tried to slow down their kiss, but Ian was on a whole other page.

He kissed along his jawline and gently nibbled on the older mans neck as he let his hands wander underneath his shirt and over his stomach. Mickey smiled and reached for his head, pulling him towards his face again.

"Easy there, Gallagher. Don't you wanna eat the food you made?", he asked, smiling fondly.

Ian looked at him uncomprehendingly and shook his head. "Hell no. I've waited way too fucking long for this."

He closed his mouth with a kiss and Mickey let it happen for a while enjoying the feel of the redhead pressed against him, drunk off the smell of his cologne, then pulled away again.

"Seriously, I'm hungry. I've been living off Pizza and takeout since I moved back home." Ian shook his head and rolled his eyes, but crawled off of him.

He watched with his arms crossed before his chest as Mickey filled his fork up with noodles.

"You're seriously gonna eat now?"

Instead of an answer, the older man demonstratively put the food in his mouth and chewed with a sly grin on his face. Ian just sat there, pouting, then another idea popped into his head. He got up and looked at Mickey who was looking at him, a amused smile on his face.

"Fine, I'm gonna start without you then", he stated as he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it in Mickeys face, disappearing to the bedroom.

He was really glad when he opened the only door he hadn't opened before and actually found the right room for once. Slamming the door behind him, he sat down on the bed and waited for Mickey to follow.  
"Don't you dare, Ian Gallagher", the older man yelled from the other room.

His plan worked, because it didn't take longer than a few seconds until he came bursting in, relieved when he spotted Ian almost fully clothed waiting on the bed.

 

* * *

  
"Fucking on the first date", Mickey huffed later when they lay side by side, covered in a thin layer of sweat, breathing heavily.

"You're such a slut, man."

Ian giggled and elbowed him in the side before rolling over and wrapping his long arms around him.

"Shut up. I told you I'm great at this, didn't I?"

Mickey laughed and let the redhead intertwine their fingers.

"Yeah, I guess you did."

 

They lay in silence, recovering and enjoying each others company until Mickey broke the silence.

"I'm glad you're here." Ian smiled fondly and placed a kiss on Mickeys collarbone.

"Me too. Not gonna tell me that we can't be together, when we wake up tomorrow, right?"

Mickey turned around to face him, rolling his eyes.

"Of course not. I'm not your employee anymore, I'm not going anywhere. It's my apartment after all."

Ian laughed happily, his lips resting on Mickeys skin.

"So, I don't mean to break the mood or anything, but can we go eat now? I'm fucking starving?" Mickey eyed the redhead pleadingly and Ian nodded.

"Sure. I could go for some food, too." He dipped his hands under the blanket again and let his hands trail over Mickeys naked body.

"Wanna go shower first?", he purred lowly, gently brushing over the older mans thigh.

"Hell no. I'm not getting in that fucking thing again today."


	9. Epilogue

The door swung open and before Mickey could even sit up from his napping spot on the couch, a redheaded boy was sitting ontop of him.

"Mick," he almost yelled, leaning down for a quick hello-kiss.

"I've got like two very, very exciting things to tell you. I'm so excited!"

Mickey who was still half asleep rubbed his eyes with his hands.

"You're excited? I hadn't noticed." Ian just rolled his eyes at his sarcastic boyfriend and quickly yanked off his coat. He looked at Mickey expectantly, nervously pounding his finger onto Mickeys chest.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what happened?" He questioned, a little disappointed.

Mickey yawned extensively and placed his hands on the redheads hips.

"Will you give me a second? I was working the night shift yesterday, remember?"

Ian didn't seem to care.

"Alright, fine.", Mickey mumbled and wiggled to sit up a little straighter.

"What happened?"

Ian's face was almost bursting from the big smile he was wearing and even while being paralyzingly tired, Mickey couldn't help but smile back.

"I got a call on my way to the store. Guess what? I GOT INTO ICE!!!"

The older mans mouth fell open at the statement and it took him a few seconds to comprehend what the man on his lap was saying.

"Say that again!" Ian smiled proudly and repeated his sentence.

"I got into the Institute of Culinary Education, Mick. I actually got in."

Mickey shook his head in disbelief and pulled Ian closer to give him a big kiss.

"Congratulations. I knew you could do it. I told you!" Ian grabbed his hands and smiled brightly.

"I know you did. Thank you. I love you!"

  
The last sentence almost got stuck in his throat as he realized what he was saying. Ian looked at their intertwined hands as his cheeks slowly turned the color of his hair. They had been together over six month now but they had yet to say their I-Love-You's.

  
"Uh, the second thing", he said, quick to move on. There was still a chance Mickey hadn't heard him.

"I haven't told you this, because I didn't want you to get your hopes up, but I've been looking into pawn shops everytime I saw one on the street or something and I hadn't found anything until today."

Mickey was looking at him, overwhelmed with everything that was happening, but now that he was suspecting where this speech was leading to, he listened carefully.

"Look what that place in Queens had lying around in their window."

Mickeys face turned even paler as he watched his boyfriend reach into his pocket and pulling out a small coin. He put it into the older mans hand and smiled at him excitedly.

"That's Iggy's coin, right? Please tell me I didn't bring home the wrong one." Mickey nodded and turned the coin in his hands.

"It's his", he said weakly and placed it on the couch table, before pulling Ian even closer.

"Thank you, Ian. I don't know what to say." Ian smiled at him and brushed his hand through his dark hair, as he buried his head in the crook of his neck.

"You know I love you, too, right?" He asked when they were face to face again.

"More than anything." Ian nodded and laughed relievedly.

"Oh thank fucking god. I almost died there for a second." He grinned when he met Mickeys disapproving glance.

"Thank fucking god? Pretty sure the Christians would be offended by that. Might wanna rephrase your sentence."

Ian shook his head at Mickey talking nonsense and pulled him into a long, lingering kiss.

"Wanna go get celebratory Starbucks?" Ian nodded and five minutes later they were on their way.

 

* * *

 

 

"Which syrup do you want in yours today?", Ian asked Mickey 30 minutes later who was sitting in one of the big leather chairs. The older man puffed out his cheeks and looked around as if to check if somebody had heard the redhead speak.

"Please, I'm a manly man. I don't take some girly syrup in my coffee." Ian smirked and rolled his eyes, waiting for a serious answer.

"So..., Caramel?", he asked. Mickey nodded corroboratively. "Yeah, definitely."

The redhead shook his head laughing and disappeared, leaving Mickey behind, his brother's coin safely in his hand.

 

 

 

Ian returned a couple of minutes later.

"They need to refill something so they'll bring the coffee here once they're ready. Mickey nodded absentmindedly.

"Mandy asked if we could watch the kids again tomorrow night after we go to dinner together. She needs to play trophy wife at some gallery afterwards." The older man nodded.

"Sure, I love having the little shitheads around. Is Karen coming, too?"

Ian huffed and nodded.

"Yeah, Mandy loves her. They do everything together now. She says they're besties. Guess I got ousted."He looked a little down about it so Mickey reached out his hand and Ian took it.

"Don't worry. Chicks are never best friends for long. They'll fight about something and you guys'll be back to normal in no time. Plus, I'll be your best friend."

Ian rubbed his hand with his thumb and shot him a crooked smile.

"You're already my boyfriend." The older man didn't seem to mind.

"So, can't I be both?" Ian shook his head.

"No, I need a best friend to talk about you. About us. I can't do that if you're my best friend." Mickey suddenly sat up straight, an alarmed look on his face.

"What do you mean you talk about me? With _Mandy_?" Before he could get his answer, a young blonde girl approached with a trey and two cups of coffee on it.

"Here you go, guys. One Caramel Latte and One Vanilla Latte. Anything else I can get you?" Ian looked around on their table.

"Thanks. Sugar, maybe?" The girl nodded and walked away.

Mickey scoffed.

"Why do you need sugar anyways?"

Ian shrugged. "Why don't you?"

Mickey grinned goofily and raised an eyebrow. "Because I'm already sweet enough."

The redhead giggled and shook his head.

A couple of minutes after, the girl came back with a sugar caster in her hand, smiling apologetically.

"So we seem to be out of regular sugar at the moment. Would brown sugar be okay?"

Mickey straightened again and shook his head vehemently.

"Hell no. This is a brown sugar free zone. He'll take sweetener instead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank everybody who read this, left Kudos or a Comment. I've had a really great time writing this and loved  
> the response I got. I hope you liked the last chapter and this epilogue and keep an eye out for future projects!  
> My tumblr is [shamelesschicago](http://shamelesschicago.tumblr.com) Come talk to me if you'd like! :)  
> I also wanna thank [ Dee ](http://im-not-his-keeper.tumblr.com) for helping me out with language issues and everything really.  
> That's it, I think. ♥ Thank you again!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [ here. ](http://www.shamelesschicago.tumblr.com)


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